


Hizzie Oneshots

by UnholyHelbig



Series: Tumblr Prompts [8]
Category: Legacies (TV 2018), The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 38,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: A collection of one-shots centered around Lizzie Saltzman and Hope Mikaelson.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman
Series: Tumblr Prompts [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1096161
Comments: 137
Kudos: 476





	1. What a Heretic

**Lizzie Saltzman remembered** quite vividly the first time she saw blood. A small study that was bathed in the warm light of gas-lit lanterns, despite the television in the next room blaring some cartoon about underwater creatures, or maybe it was superheroes. Josie had nodded off, clenching a blanket in her grasp as she snored softly. Lizzie blamed her curiosity. 

She crept through the halls of the house towards where she knew her mother would be. She could feel her energy and heard muffled voices from where she stood. Lizzie padded softly in her socks and kept her thumb in her mouth in a nervous habit that her mother was trying to break. Quiet and calculated, she hugged the doorframe of the study. 

Her Aunt Bonnie held a blade, a dagger that was varnished in gold and had the red eye of a demon carved into the handle. It reminded Lizzie of something she would see in one of her fairytale books. Not under the soft hand of a princess, but the wretched one of a wicked witch.

There was an old map stained in a darker brown, and the scent of sage ticked at the back of Lizzie’s throat. She watched as her Aunt grasped her mother's hand, gently and leading. She took the edge of the blade, silver and sparkling in the light, and dragged the likes of which against her mother's palm. Uttering the simple words:  _ Ementas Asten Mihan Ega Petous.  _

Lizzie breathed in sharply, and Aunt Bonnie’s deep brown eyes shot towards the doorframe. She could feel her heartbeat against her rib cage, clutching herself close as she pressed her back flush against the wall. There were a few seconds of chatter before the spell went on- deep and syrupy blood forming in a thin line until it puddled in one spot of the map. 

A locator spell, one of the first things that Lizzie had the honor of learning. But right now- right here as she breathed in the musty and damp air, she traced a line against her palm. Not one with the tip of a golden handled blade, but one of her own touch. It was cold and inhuman. Her breath forming in a sigh in front of her. 

She wished for warmth, and not to be locked away in the basement of a school that her father cultivated for her safety of all things. A cage that protected others from her and not the other way around like they had led her to believe. Because she had to face the truth of the matter- she was a monster. Is a monster. 

That’s the only reason they would seal her away in the same place that held the likes of Alyssa Chang and the Necromancer with his uncontrollable ego. There was a small bed and a few books that were stacked in the corner, pages soaked through and moldy. And a tin glass that dripped with blood. Blood that she remembered so vividly seeing for the first time. 

“You have to drink something, Lizzie. You’ll desiccate if you don’t.” 

She didn’t bother to look away from her own hands, tracing the lifeline that was inevitably cut short. A car that wrapped around a tree like a twist tie made sure of that. Every time she clenched her eyes shut she could see the flashing blue and red lights of the cruiser that technically didn’t belong to anyone. The way blood leaked from a cut at the edge of her hairline and dripped off her chin. She had rubbed it between her fingers and shuddered out a breath. 

Her veins felt hot and sticky. “Maybe I should. It would certainly free up space for whatever Malivore throws at you next.” 

Hope Mikaelson let out a weighted sigh and traced the second tin cup of blood with her fingers. Secretly hoping that the Saltzman twin would have come to her senses and down the first ration. No such luck, instead they stared at each other, one outside an iron cage, the other trapped in a world of her own. 

“I heard that the pain is unbearable.” Hope sat down on the dirt floor, her back pressed against the brick wall that leaked a coolness through her shirt. She looked unphased. “That your mouth feels dry like cotton, and then your skin starts to… hiss. That’s how my Aunt described it. An unbearable itch. But that’s not even the worst of it, you know? The worst part is the burning that hits your throat. Worse than hunger, because hunger is satiable.” 

“Stop.” 

“Not until you drink something.” 

“No.” 

“And why not?” Hope asked, whipping her head to the side. Lizzie stared at her with curiosity. Her eyes were dark and swollen from crying. She had effectively frayed the one blanket that was in the cell. Her mind raced for an answer. To everything she had lost the second she swallowed down three even gulps of bitter wine. 

Sebastian had cruely tricked her and she hated herself for falling for his dull blue stare and fancy haircut and promises of the world. Frantic and tear-stained, and terrifying. That underlying fear that ate away at her almost as much as the hunger did. 

“I lost everything I never knew I wanted.” Lizzie sniffed, staring down at her socked feet. “A chance to grow old and travel. To have kids of my own, and god fucking dammit, what if I wanted to become a doctor? Or an EMT? I’m a kid. And this- this took that choice away from me.” 

The truth was that Lizzie missed the fragility of it all. The feeling of being close to human. Even the spike of fear that pushed through her when she saw her Aunt performing a spell. Before she knew about witches and werewolves, and the merge. When she could hope to attend a normal high school and have an epic love that was utterly and senselessly captivating. She thought she had found it in Sebastian. 

Lizzie seethed, “I was a fool for trusting him. For letting him in. For letting him turn me into this.” 

Hope was silent for a long time. They listened to the wind that howled just past the schools' wall, and a leaky pipe that dripped a map of mud onto the dirt floor. She continued to trace the side of the tin cup before standing entirely and walking to the door of the jail cell. Lizzie watched her mildly. 

The iron creaked and groaned under the stress of movement. Lizzie scooted closer to the corner of the bed, the springs hissing under her as she curled into herself. She looked so small, Hope decided, as she set the tin cup on the table next to the bed. Her breath formed in front of her, almost a separate entity. 

Lizzie’s throat tingled in hunger. The blood was close, so close she could feel her jaw ache and her mouth fill with saliva. 

“Stay away from me, Hope.” Lizzie’s voice was dark. “I’m an abomination.” 

She let out a breath. “Yeah? Well, what does that make me?” 

Hope sat on the edge of the bed. Both of them utterly broken in terms of normalcy. One a mix of witch and vampire, the other possessing the abilities of a wolf, all while wielding magic. Abomination isn’t a word Hope would use- different, set-apart from a crowd, but never an abomination. She could feel Lizzie buzzing. 

Her cool hand reached out and gently cupped the side of the girls' face, clammy with sweat. She started to breathe heavier through her nose. Face smoothing from a frown as Lizzie melted into the much-needed touch. 

Hope moved her thumb tenderly over dark under eyes and bloody black veins. “You’re starving.” 

Lizzies placid stare was pierced with fear and something more as Hope reached for the mug of fresh blood. She held it between them, breath picking up and deep eyes flashing in an heir of red. “Hope, I can’t.” 

“You’ve done it once before,” She cooed softly “You can do it again.” 

The Saltzman girl took two deep and hulling breaths before greedily reaching for the glass and pulling it to her lips. Hope withdrew and watched her carefully. Hunger had won and Lizzie swallowed the blood eagerly and with purpose, life filling her cheeks with a pale pink blush. She finished the mug and licked her lips. 

“I can’t do this alone.” Her voice shook.

“It’s a good thing that you don’t have to.” 


	2. Tally Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: literally JUST saw this on tik tok, but Hizzie with the tally mark thing where each marking symbolizes someone that you kill?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are sending me with these sad requests! I'm asking one of you nicely to send me a sweet family AU where they have kids and are happily married and not... prone to murder?? Anyway, my tumblr is UnholyHelbig if any of you want to see something specific!

**She didn’t’ remember** much of the previous night; a staggering attempt to drown out her 21st birthday with alcohol and a few long inhales of weed. The stench clung to her like a thorn now, mixing with sweat and the natural scent of the bedsheets. Hope wasn’t sure if morning light had broken like the soft golden center of an egg.

There were two fleece blankets tacked over the window in an attempt to quell the heat that would flood even the nicest of motel rooms. It did nothing to aid her hangover, giving her the mercy of a later sleep.

Hope licked her lips; metallic and almost tasting like blood.

The drawn-out sound of an early morning trumpet echoed through the streets of the French quarter, battling with the window unit as it coughed and sputtered in its attempt to cool the room. She used to find it comforting, the way people would position themselves at the corner of every street, a fur-lined case opened with a painted cardboard sign.

She wished it would stop, wished all of it would stop; the bakeries that produced beignet’s sprinkled in powdered sugar. The bars that opened so early that it never seemed like they had closed in the first place. The Chinese place that rested below her apartment had started banging around hours ago, producing the greasy smell of oil-fried dough.

Hope pulled the sheets closer to her body, turning away from the windows and the air conditioner, letting the cool air dance across her back and dry the pool of sweat that brined her skin. She clenched her eyes shut, trying to remember, determined to.

The glass dance floor was flashing between three different colors, and the scent of cinnamon mixed so easily with faux fog. The music pulsed through her and her hair matted against her forehead the more she moved. There were people pressed up against her, moving with the beat just like she was- and that hunger, that hunger she didn’t’ understand before pulled so effortlessly at her.

“You’re up,” Lizzie Saltzman had an heir of silence around her, one she carried everywhere. Hope felt her heart hitch for half a second before it returned to its normal pace. She didn’t want to be awake. “I went to get coffee from Mr. Zhang but all he had was leaf water, so I went to that bakery down the street.”

“Tea,” Hope grumbled into her pillow.

“No, like actual leaf water.”

Lizzie reached for the light switch on the far wall, too much of a morning person even though Hope had the sneaking suspicion that it was late afternoon if not early evening. “Don’t, please.”

The blonde stopped her finger halfway on the switch and held a nearly empty coffee cup in her other hand. She had begun to sweat, that sputtering excuse for an AC did nothing for her, as she stood across the room entirely.

Hope’s place was less than glamorous; there was a desk stacked high with old newspaper and a couple of liquor bottles that had long since been drained. She used a fold-out lawn chair that was draped with dirty clothes. Old spell books were stacked on most of the exposed wood floor- and her mattress was covered in a sheet that was far too small, one corner always falling loose in the night. Still, Lizzie slept there more than she would like to admit.

“I don’t want to see.”

Lizzie softened at this, not particularly a side effect of a raging hangover, she assumed. Hope still hadn’t opened her eyes, and usually coffee did the trick. “Oh, Hope, this isn’t about the markings- is it?”

Of course, it was about them. It had been a sole focus in classrooms in public schools, much less the mystical one both of them were raised in. They had promotional videos narrated by Tom Cruise dressed in his Top Gun outfit; he pulled down his sleeve and ran his finger over his wrist, over the raised tally marks that were inked like a barcode.

He only had two, so it was easy for him to beam at the camera and speak of all the public good they did. It could be a car accident or a split decision he made that later took a life. But two wasn’t bad- and for that matter, neither was five. The bus driver that took her to the boarding school had five, and he still smiled like it was acceptable.

Lizzie had three.

Three perfectly even tally marks that showed how many lives she would rob from this world. The morning of her and Josie’s 21st birthday she had let out a sigh of relief because three was okay, three didn’t prosecute her or turn her into a pariah.

Josie had twelve.

None of them could pretend that the high number didn’t set a stony pit in the center of their stomachs. They moved against her wrist and some odd part of her forearm and Josie did what she did best; grow quiet. For a long time, she was gone, away from this world and somewhere that didn’t have twelve people to kill.

She felt the bed dip under Lizzie’s weight. “It could be zero, Hope, or it could be twenty. Either way: those markings mean nothing. Things can change, they can be erased.”

“If I isolate myself?” Hope asked, clenching her eyes tighter as she pulled the blankets further over her skin. Josie had erased one half of a tally mark, but that took months. “I don’t want to do that.”

“And you won’t have to.”

She felt Lizzie’s hand on her shoulder, hot, even against the sheets. Every single part of Hope wanted to melt into her touch and pull her close and ignore the way her body burned like the markings were warming her from the inside out. Her skin buzzed because she knew, she knew she would be marked.

“I’ve been trying for years to stop it.” She spoke evenly “To make sure no one was defined by stupid little tally marks but it’s useless. It’s not magic or science. It’s not anything but reality.”

“Hope,” She whispered her name softly and with a tenderness that was all too forgiving. “Open your eyes, you can’t keep them closed forever.”

She swallowed a gulp of musty air, tasting the books and the sour scent of the window unit. The soft lavender that Lizzie always smelled of despite the heat, and her own sweat, clouded with vices. She opened her eyes; blinking at the ceiling as she had never seen before.

Slowly she pulled her right arm from under the sheets, and she stared, stared at the small and defined tally marks that seemed so scary, so agonizingly determined. There were five, neatly drawn. Then another five- a diagonal gash joining the four lines.

Hope pulled herself up against the headboard, letting the sheets drop away entirely as she counted. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five- all scattered against her left arm and continuing across her collarbone until they reached the fingertips on her right. Down her chest and against her stomach, climbing evenly across her neck. She stopped counting at fifty and hadn’t yet reached her knees.

“Lizzie-“She choked out.

Hope fell forward, feeling the gentle arms of another pull her in. Her sobs felt desolate; muffled in Lizzie’s hair. The number was high, the number was off the charts high and she had every right to give in to the dread that overtook her. 

She cried with more violence than she had ever felt before. Until her throat was numb and her fingers were left clenching onto Lizzie’s tear-stained shirt. Until the tally marks were blurred- until she learned to accept the markings, and exactly what they meant.


	3. Duck Pajamas & Restless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ok,, Hizzie where Hope has bad dreams and can't sleep so she has to sleep with Lizzie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some fluff!! I'm such a bitch for domestic stuff like this. Also, the world seems to be pretty scary right now so please stay hydrated and for the love of all that's good, stay inside.

**Hope Mikaelson let** the cold water run over her hands until they burned like she had lit a match instead of turning a knob. She hadn’t bothered with soap because it smelled too much like lavender and overwhelmed her this early in the morning. Overwhelming in the same sense that the fluorescent lights were, and the obnoxiously green tile.

She had never understood the shared bathrooms in the Salvatore school, nor did she the way that Dr. Saltzman decorated them; like the ones they had at community pools without the stark and nauseating scent of ice cream and sunscreen. She could still pick up on the chlorine though- and the air freshener that they used to mask the shot-up piping system.

Hope couldn’t sleep.

So she had resorted to standing in the kitchen, it’s thankfully low light, shinning against the granite countertops as she flicked on the sink and downed three full glasses of water before her stomach started to hurt; but that had been an hour ago, and now, as she stood in the shared shower system, she regretted it.

“What are you doing up?”

Hope jumped at the voice, and her heart pounded dutifully in her throat. She hadn’t heard Lizzie Saltzman. Not in her socked feet. Hope turned away from the sink and shook her hands out like they were contaminated, and the taller of the twins blinked sleepily at her, hair messy and pajamas skewed.

“I like your pants,” Hope avoided the question “the ducks were a good choice.”

Lizzie scrunched her face up into a frown. “You’re having nightmares again, aren’t you?”

Hope hesitated for a moment, like the missed opportunity of sleep had finally caught up with her. All that exhaustion slumped into her shoulders and breathed at the back of her neck. Yes, she had been plagued with nightmares again, and yes they were hard to decipher. But that didn’t’ mean she had to sit here and work out her subconscious with Lizzie Saltzman of all people.

“You know, sometimes it helps to not be alone?” The blonde continued as she leaned her full weight onto that hideously sapphire tile. It pressed a reflection against her skin and bounced entirely close to her gray stare. “When Josie used to have nightmares, she would crawl into bed with me. Just to be close to someone.”

“Yeah, hard pass,” Hope said flatly moving the length of the bathroom until she was nearly greeted with those dull and Victorian colors instead of this. Something so harsh and revealing. “Thank you though.”

Lizzie nodded, “Goodnight, Hope.”

It sounded insincere, but not in a terrible and condescending way that left an acid taste in Hope’s mouth. She padded down the hall until she reached her room and could feel the iron handle against the inside of her palm.

She breathed in three times, not pushing past the threshold just yet. She wracked her brain and stared at the length of the door- because she didn’t need to be with someone right now. She could crawl into bed and surround herself with enough pillows until it felt like there was another person holding her.

Even then, she thought bitterly, how would that help?

Hope growled to herself and lowered her grasp before glancing down the hallway, staggered and lit by small bulbs. The hallway was empty and why wouldn’t it be at 3 am? She felt herself move three doors down to Lizzie’s room, taking in the soft glow that spilled onto the carpet. She knocked twice, so softly that it was barely recognizable.

Lizzie opened the door a few seconds later, perfect eyebrow raised and just the slightest hint of a smile on her lips. She smelled nice, Hope decided, as she tried to collect herself. Like vanilla with the slightest hint of lemon. A book was propped open on her nightstand and a page had been dog-eared to mark her place.

“Hi,” Hope breathed.

“Hi.”

“You tell anyone that I need to-“The Tribrid lowered her voice and spoke through clenched teeth. “Cuddle with you to maybe get some sleep, and I will murder you without a second thought, Saltzman.”

Lizzie was smiling fully now and Hope was too irritated to admit that it was dazzling. She pushed her way through the door and let Lizzie close it with a soft thud behind her. Her eyes scanned the room for Josie and conceded that maybe, just maybe, she would be gone for the rest of the night.

“Jo is with mom in San Francisco until Monday,” Lizzie spoke as if reading her mind.

Hope nodded and took in the room; the perfectly made bed that sat across from Lizzie’s comforter pulled back where she had been curled up with her novel. The taller of the two climbed back where she had been, lifting the blanket and looking at her expectantly. Hope felt color flush against her cheeks. She had come begging at the door and now Lizzie Saltzman was making her be the _little spoon?_

She let out a dramatic sigh and unwound her arms and laid in the vacant space that Lizzie had made for her; and fuck, that same vanilla scent engulfed her as if it had arms itself. But it wasn’t just that- Lizzie did too. Pulling her against her front and wrapping a strong grasp against her midsection.

Hope considered wiggling free as the first wave of heat ticked across her skin. She could feel Lizzie’s breath against the back of her throat, and her fingers against her stomach. And more than anything, she felt that same exhaustion that she had in the bathroom. But she suddenly felt safe too, wrapped in the witches' arms and inhaling her primal scent.

Lizzie reached over carefully and flicked off the light, abandoning the book and the adventures that were between the pages. Hope sighed contently and listened to Lizzie’s breath. “Goodnight, Lizzie.”

“Goodnight, Hope.” That one sounded more sincere, she thought before she drifted off to sleep, finally letting it take her over like it had been struggling to do all night.

 **Hope Mikaelson awoke** to the sound of a cellphone camera. The soft and subtle click bounced off the walls of the room like it didn’t’ have a home there in the first place. She was fully aware of her surroundings, sleep riddled mind taking in everything around her before the shock began to seep through.

She was hugging Lizzie Saltzman’s arm close to her, leaning her head halfway on the pillow, the rest clinging to the extremity. The siphon’s own fingers had trailed under Hope’s shirt during the night; not creeping high, but still hot and obvious against her stomach.

Hope didn’t want to admit that she was drooling all over Lizzie’s pillow, or that the girl _really_ was good at cuddling. But she hadn’t slept like that in ages- not since Malivore, and maybe even before that if she was being honest.

Lizzie groaned behind her, deep and breathy. She curled herself closer, pressing her face into a mane of auburn hair and clenching her eyes against the begging light of the sun. Hope wanted to the same, trying to convince herself that the sound was clouded in a haze of sleep but wait… there it was again.

Hope snapped her eyes open and cringed away from the brightness of the room.

Josie Saltzman had the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, holding her phone at just the right angle to capture the two of them held close. A suitcase was grasped in her opposite hand, the door to the room cracked open to a bustling group of early morning risers.

“My flight got cancelled,” She explained, “And boy am I glad that it did.”

The tribrid had propped herself up on her elbows as Lizzie slowly began to rub the sleep from her eyes. They widened, taking in the scene before glancing at Hope. “Oh God,”

Hope blinked twice, staring at the smaller twin. “Run,”

Josie yelped and fumbled with her phone, a clear expression of triumph on her face before she dashed from the small room. Hope throwing a pillow after her, pushing the door shut with the sheer force of the toss.

She flopped back on the mattress and groaned, letting the noise rumble through her chest. She didn’t’ have it in her to chase after the Saltzman twin, nor did she want to leave the warm cocoon that smelled like pastries. Instead, she pried one eye open when Lizzie looped her arm back around her midsection and pressed the cold tip of her nose against the small of her neck.

“It’s only six,” her voice was hot against exposed skin, gravelly and exhausted. “Go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hope didn’t have it in her to fight, either, and for once, that seemed okay.


	4. You're Afraid of Needles?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Au where Hope and Lizzie have to take their kids to the doctors but Hope is afraid of needles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! More fluff, honestly I've done this type of prompt a few times now for different fandoms so I tried to switch it up this time.

**Every doctor’s office** looked the same to Lizzie Saltzman; those plain puke colored walls, and carpet that was a dark enough shade to hide any accidents. There were mahogany tables dedicated to educational brochures and posters on the wall about how to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

This office was fancier. It had leather couches and a large bay window lead to the small, yet charming town, of Mystic Falls. The blinds were slit just enough to let some light in to counter that sharp buzzing of fluorescents. A small table crowded with broken crayons and printed pages of mazes and cartoon characters sat in the corner- but Lizzie had a tight grip on Andi regardless. Her arms wrapped tightly as the three-year-old wiggled in her lap.

The words ‘ _Doctor Elena Salvatore’_ cast a backward shadow over the carpet as a flat cloud blocking the sun finally shifted and created a warmer feeling in the office. Hope squinted at the clipboard and stopped scribbling with her pen.

“What’s her social security number? She’s three; does she even have a social security number? Are we bad parents because we don’t know it?” Hope gulped in sterile air, eyes darting around the waiting room “Oh my god what’s _my_ social security number?”

Lizzie fought the urge to roll her eyes. Hope Mikaelson was unbeatable; she had plunged her fingers deep into the chest cavities of monsters twelve times her size. Had marched headfirst into a war between the living and the dead- had thrown herself into a bubbling black pit of goo to save the fragile history of humanity, and god, Hope Mikaelson was afraid of the doctors.

She always had been, and Lizzie just didn’t have the apprehension to notice.

When they were at the Salvatore School, Hope would take the long way around the corridors just to avoid the wandering eye of the nurse. Even after the plunging touch of cupids brother had splattered blood across the nice hardwood floors- she still refused actual medical treatment.

And even more so when the two of them accepted the fact that they both wanted more out of life and started the process of having children. Six years of marriage and a lifetime of adventures slowly trickled into a home life in the very town that they were raised in.

Hope had braved her fear of hospitals when Lizzie’s water broke in the middle of the night but had sworn off of anything of the sorts for the last three years. Lizzie was the one to take Andi to her shots, and to checkups, but this time was different- this time Andi had a nasty cold and wouldn’t let Lizzie put her down for more than three seconds at a time, unless, of course, there were crayons involved.

“Hope, darling, skip that question.” Lizzie said tenderly.

“Right, yeah. What’s her address?”

The taller of the two groaned dramatically and snatched the clipboard from her wife before placing Andi in her lap to fill the void. Hopes arms naturally curled around her daughter as she pulled her close, despite the runny nose and shivering coughs. Besides, Hope was immune to this kind of thing- Lizzie could still get whatever cold was running through the house this time.

The girls stark blonde hair was pulled into two pigtails with a pink scrunchie and a light blue one, a pair of clear glasses that she liked to pull off her nose constantly were securely strapped around her head with a band that Lizzie accessorized as only she could.

She sniffled and hugged her close while Lizzie handed the clipboard back to the receptionist, whizzing through the next four questions where Hope stumbled on just the first. Her legs bounced nervously in an untamed bout of anxiety. Hope wanted to shift and run and Lizzie squeezed her shoulder to ground her, though, the only thing her wife could focus on was the poster of a kitten hanging from a tree.

Hope’s entire body tensed when someone in dark blue scrubs called their names and beaconed them to walk through a squeaky wooden door. Andi had to be lured onto the metal scale with the promise of some form of candy before burying her cold nose against the inside of Lizzie’s neck, allowing the taller woman to scoop her up.

They were led into an exam room at the end of the hall and told to wait. Hope stared at the door like a caged animal, pacing a hole into the floor as their daughter kicked her feet and crinkled against the wax paper. The nurse had given her a tongue depressor and it was enough to entertain her, if not for a moment.

“What are they going to do?” Hope stuck her nails in her mouth, tempted to chew them.

Lizzie started to regret her decision to bring her wife along but detested the thought of slapping one of those fuzzy monkey backpacks on her daughter to keep her from spreading her germs. She gave a slight smile and stopped Hope from pacing with two steady hands on her shoulders.

“They’re going to listen to her lungs,” Lizzie guessed “and then they’re going to give her medicine to make her all better. Nothing scary- Andi isn’t even scared, see?”

Her daughter gave her a toothy and distracted grin at the sound of her name before she went back to her stick. Hope let her shoulders slump as she fell into Lizzie’s arms, groaning into her sweater “What is it, darling? The white coats?”

“They’re just freaky” Hope answered, words muffled “Who willingly goes through that much school to get sneezed on and oh my god, the student debt.”

A slight knock came at the door and Hope tensed, the two of them parted, harmoniously moving to the side of the table. Hope felt instinctive, pulling her daughters' tiny fingers into her own. Andi nearly growled at the distraction from the popsicle stick, but quickly forgot when the doctor revealed her beaming smile. She let the door fall behind her before sticking out a hand. “Hi, I’m Doctor Donovan”

“Lizzie, and this is Hope.”

Her wife seemed to stumble through the introductions fine enough and only edged forward twice with the doctor pressed a metal stethoscope against her daughters back. Lizzie held a firm hand on her shoulder through it all.

“All right miss Andi, you were really brave.” Doctor Donovan said, placing the instrument back around her neck before sitting back. “Mom’s she seems to have a bit of a sinus infection going on, nothing too scary. We can give her some antibiotics and she’ll be good to go.”

Hope seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

“We'll just take care of that shot and send you guys on your way." 

“The _what_?” all of the color seemed to drain from Hope's face.

“We don’t have any oral medicine to give her,” Doctor Donovan stood and started to fish through the white cabinets. She pulled a glass vile down, and then Andi seemed to bring enough air into her lungs to make her chest ache. She reached blindly for Hope's hand again and little nails dug into her palm. “It’s a series of two shots, but she doesn’t need the other one for another week.”

Something close to a whimper sounded as the doctor pulled some serum into the syringe. She turned towards the three of them and Hope suddenly felt her heart in her chest. Andi’s cheeks were quickly stained in tears and her cheek.

“She’s afraid of needles,” Hope explained, trying to keep her own voice level.

As if to drive her point home, Andi started wailing, loud like any child in the face of a needle would. Hope pulled her closer to muffle the noise and glanced at Lizzie helplessly because deep down the both of them knew that no amount of bargaining or comfort could quell the snot or the trembling lip. Hope pulled away and knelt close to her.

“Sweetie, hey-“ Hope held the girls arms, “Pay attention for a second, okay?”

Andi hiccupped twice and dragged her arm against the base of her nose. Lizzie fought back a smile because she liked this, liked when Hope talked to their three-year-old as if she were a tiny adult.

“What if I got one too? It doesn’t’ hurt, I promise. And I bet you’ll even get a really cool band-aid.”

“Oh you will,” Doctor Donavan confirmed, “It’s purple.”

Andi looked at the three of them skeptically but slowly nodded, accepting the fact that there was no getting out of this. Hope slowly let it set in too, she shed her jacket and rolled up her sleeve- because yeah, needles were scary but so was seeing her daughter upset.

Hope steeled her jaw and clenched her eyes shut as Doctor Donovan slathered alcohol against her arm, cool and calming. Hope waited for the countdown, and the painful prick, but instead focused on the fact that Lizzie slid her fingers into her hand.

“All right, mom is all done.” The doctor said with a smile and Hope propped one eye open carefully, staring down at the big purple band-aid because she hadn’t even felt that. “That wasn’t so scary, right?”

“Not at all,” her voice trembled but Andi didn’t notice, instead she was transfixed on the giant purple adhesive that she wanted to get her hands on, shot or not. “A real piece of cake”

Lizzie wrapped her arm around Hope's waist, fingers resting against her hip “That was very brave of you, Hope.”

“Oh you know,” her words came out breathy, because her arms throbbed, even with Lizzie’s touch. “Saving the world one flu shot at a time”


	5. Uncharted Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hizzie Prompt... Ok so Lizzie has to deal with Hope while in heat or during a blood moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be the first to admit that I did all of you dirty with this one. I got way too involved in the storyline which means- part two of you want it, but you've gotta let me know!

**The day held** a soft golden hue to it, spilling onto the scalding cement and glinting expertly against the choppy artificial waves that started at one end of the pool and pushed to the section that Lizzie was stationed at. She had the liberty of a sun-stained umbrella and a bout of shade that did nothing to quell the heat of the summer wind.

Cool Waves Summer Adventure Park was the bane of her existence. For the cheap wage of seven dollars an hour she would rise before the sun and leave when the night was finally cooling off. Everything smelled like cheap spray tan and sunscreen, and the occasional puddle of vomit. But her father insisted that she keep the position as a lifeguard if she wanted to keep that nice 1969 Chevy Camaro that a family friend had given her.

So she sat at the far end of the pool, day in and day out, watching for lazy parents that tip too far on the rafts, or for their demon kids who would drink the chlorine infused water. Occasionally she would have days like this; where it was crowded and the sun was more irritating than anything.

“Sir I don’t know how to explain this to you in any other way. The coupon you have isn’t even for _our_ park. I couldn’t give you half-off at the snack shack even if I wanted to.”

If the customer in front of her wasn’t already sunburnt, she could see his bald head shifting through three shades of red. He frowned and removed his sunglasses because maybe that would make him look more intimidating, but really it just paid tribute to how many times he had fallen asleep by the side of the ocean. He had the measly paper clenched between his fist.

“Maybe if you went to the snack shack, they could help.” She tried weakly. It was dirty, she knew, pushing the disgruntled father off towards another department. But she was a lifeguard and nowhere near the food stand. “I’m sure they could give you something.”

He sputtered, not happy with the answer. “I want to talk to your supervisor, Josie.”

She glanced down at the white logoed shirt that hugged her closely, damp with sweat. He had used her name to drive a point, but she had grabbed the wrong nametag this morning on her way out the door. Another misstep that she would have to make up to her sister somehow in the next few days.

Lizzie opened her mouth to respond but halted to a stop when the sharp cut of a whistle captured both of their attentions. It wasn’t Lizzie’s hers still hung lazily around her neck, collecting heat like a beacon.

It was easy to spot an accident, she learned that her fourth day on the job when part of the Black Vulture came loose and the large waterslide was shut down faster than an ambulance could arrive to haul away the kid who got a few bruises.

People tended to clear and gawk instead of doing what they could to help. Right now there was a steady circle in the middle of the water and something, someone, thrashing around in the deeper end of the pool. Lizzie could feel her heart in her chest and suddenly didn’t care much about arguing with a disgruntled patron.

She moved quickly past the umbrella, and the chair, shoving both of her hands against the large red button that screamed: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. It didn’t do much of course, but it did bring the motor that created waves in the pool to a screeching halt. They had never used it before.

And then there was the girl, the one who blew the whistle in the first place. Hope Mikaelson didn’t bother shedding away her shirt or pulling the walkie-talkie from the waistband of her annoyingly tight shorts. Instead, she jumped into the pool with expert speed and precision.

Lizzie rushed down the cement steps, hand running across the scalding metal railing. “10-10 wave pool.” She knew her words were breathy over the radio, and she knew even more than that, that this wasn’t just a possible drowning. It was laid out clear and plain in front of her but her scrambled mind couldn’t get a grasp on the correct code.

Hope had pulled the young girl from the far end of the pool and onto the edge by the time that Lizzie had gotten there. They were both dripping and she had linked her hands together, placing them in the center of the young girl's chest, lips blue.

“Where the hell were you?” Hope snarled, squaring her shoulders and applying pressure in intervals. Her mouth moved while she counted before she said: “ _Help_ me, Saltzman.”

Lizzie didn’t need to be told twice. She was careful, listening to Hope count out the last five intervals before she lilted the girls chin up and blew just enough air into her lungs to push them outwards. She did this twice before Hope started pressing against her chest again.

Everything had slowed and by the time Hope alerted her of her position, Lizzie was ready to lean forward again. The girl coughed violently, a mix of bile and water pushed from her lips and a healthy dose of color returned to her cheeks.

“Stand back, both of you” Lizzie was shoved to a standing position as the real medical team got there, heeding her shout over the radio. The on-call medic pressed two gloved fingers to the edge of the girls throat for a pulse, despite her lucidity. “It’s a good thing you were here.”

“Where else would I be?” Hope asked, her words dripped of acid and her stare burned like a flame. Lizzie frowned.

“That’s not fair, I was dealing with another situation.”

“Yeah, so was I but I always keep on eye on the pool, Lizzie. That’s basic lifeguarding.” Hope started to walk to the main office shoving past her, shoulder wet and cold as she dripped onto the dry pavement. “Get it together.”

Lizzie wanted to call after her just like she had wanted to rip that guy's coupon to shreds and push him into the shallow end. But she bit her tongue until she could taste blood again before turning her attention back to the medic and the young girl who sat at the edge of the still water.

 **“You were really** lucky that Hope was there.” MG struggled with the combination of his lock. He had been at it for a good fifteen minutes, but with no luck. Lizzie considered the fact that he had the wrong locker altogether, but she resorted to pulling on a sweatshirt, not wanting to stare at that stupid logo of the penguin holding a beach ball anymore.

“But why was she there?” Lizzie asked, earning a patronizing stare. “Not that I’m not thankful. That girl is totally alive because of her. But last time I checked, the almighty Hope Mikaelson was stationed at Hurricane falls, all the way on the other end of the park.”

He pulled down on the lock one final time and it clicked open fluidly. “Yes! Alyssa said she wasn’t feeling well so she was going to take a break in the shade. Hope kind of blew up on her.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Lizzie let the conversation fizzle in the air as MG collected his stuff from the locker, shoving his car keys in the slim pockets of his shorts. Though she thought that the girl had a hero Complex, Hope was anything but violent. Never one with a short fuse and always liked by every single supervisor including Alyssa.

The two of them strolled out into the nearly desolate park, breathing in the hot air. It had cooled off significantly from the afternoon and the usually pitch-black path was lit by an oddly orange light, a curved half-moon in the sky.

“Would you look at that?” MG stared up at it and blinked “Kind of cool,”

Blood Moons weren’t cool, not the full ones anyway. Not in Lizzie Saltzman’s household. She wasn’t an expert in the supernatural by any means, but she had found enough old and dusty books in her mother’s stuff to know that the energy around them was anything but pleasant. That the world was better off forgetting anything like that existed in the first place.

Over the years she and Josie had tried to ask their parents about it, about the old stories and the reason they had all of that stuff in the first place but they were shut out each time. Because magic didn’t really exist, and neither did the creatures that basked in its light.

“Oh, shoot-“ Lizzie patted down her person, “I forgot my keys. Go on without me.”

MG hesitated, his features soft in the darkened crimson light. “You’re sure?”

She nodded, sure of herself. Nothing bad happened here, not this late at night when all the bloodthirsty tourists had retired for fancy dinners by the ocean’s edge. Even if something did happen, the park was littered with cameras, and she was confident.

Lizzie parted ways with him and the two of them walked in opposite directions. Him towards the parking lot and her towards the main building, filled with offices and the employee locker rooms, lined with metal and eerily silent at this time of night.

The air was thick and wet with steam and the scent of soap, unlike it had been moments ago. She felt sweat collect instantly against her skin. They had showers lining the far end, something that had never been converted from the park's original design. But no one ever used them.

Lizzie silently crept towards her locker and started to struggle with her combination just like MG had. Her fingers were shaking, and she was starting to think coming back here on her own was her worst idea yet. But finally, she got enough advantage to snatch them and closed it softly, turning, but halting.

Her body came in contact with another, so quiet and smelling fresh like lavender body wash. Not the usual chemical scent that they all carried home with them like a badge. She felt the soft edge of a towel under her fingertips and slammed her back against the cold metal of the lockers.

“Jesus Christ Hope, you scared the hell out of me!” Lizzie felt her heart in her throat once more but for a different reason than before. Not adrenaline, not fear- something else entirely that she couldn’t’ pinpoint.

Hope was wrapped tightly in a dark green towel, or maybe it was black, she couldn’t tell over the soft light that flooded the bathroom like split blood. It shaded the girls features, sharp and different. Her hair was damp.

“Oh?” She cocked a perfect brow “Should I start wearing a bell, Saltzman?”

“Yeah, maybe. What are you doing here so late anyway?”

Hope raked her gaze up and down Lizzie’s frame before landing back on her stare. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I forgot my keys.” She jingled them like a prize, swallowing the way her hair raised on end, goosebumps prickling. “Hey, I wanted to apologize about earlier today. It pains me to admit it, but you were right. I should have been paying more attention.”

The Mikaelson girl nodded thoughtfully and pulled the towel closer to her, suddenly moving an inch of a step back. Hope frowned and Lizzie couldn’t tell if it was about what she had said or the sudden loss of heat in the air. The light had shifted, hidden behind nothing but a wisp of a cloud.

“Uh, yeah.” Hope cleared her throat and blinked dumbly and took another step back. “Don’t worry about it. You should probably get home.”

Lizzie stared at the girl and the way she pulled into herself against the darkness of the locker room. It hung in the air and her fingers tightened against the edge of her keys. She knew she should wait for Hope, should offer her a ride home or politely walk her to her car- but she didn’t. Instead, she nodded slowly.

“See you tomorrow?”

Hope averted her stare, “yeah, sure thing.”


	6. Uncharted Waters[P2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Part Two of the lifeguard/ blood moon thing? I like that universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, dare I say, love this universe too... which means I'm thinking about making this AU an actual thing with multiple chapters. Is that something you guys would be into?

**Electronic music hissed** and pounded, the windows of the small house shaking with the tempo. Lizzie couldn’t bring herself to exit the car. Not with the group of people crowded on the front step, taking easy gulps of whatever cheap alcohol filled red plastic cups. With each wary glance towards the Chevy, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

Josie reached across her in a fluid motion, turning the key until the engine didn’t purr anymore. “People wouldn’t be staring if you turned off your headlights.”

“They’re staring because I almost let a kid drown.”

Lizzie kept her eyes forward. She was sure that she had the license plate of the car parked in front of them memorized. WTV-2869. It was an obnoxious shade of yellow that had once been white- _Virginia is for Lovers,_ it read, but she wasn’t feeling any of it. 

Kaleb was accustomed to throwing the end of the summer parties filled with alcohol and at least three bad decisions. It was a celebration of a good season and a flaunt of money that each of them had struggled to save up over the past three and a half months of being crammed in hot plastic chairs and mopping up fluids no one wanted to identify, not fully.

“That was almost a week ago, Lizzie.” Josie’s voice was tender and her fingers traced the seatbelt across her chest. She wanted to unclip it and pad up the front steps until she ran into the other girls that worked at the snack shack. All of them smelled like fried dough and artificial cheese but Lizzie never mentioned it. “I’m not saying you should get over it, it’s scary, I know. But no one else is holding it against you.”

Lizzie scrunched up her nose “Hope Mikaelson is, even though I apologized _and_ thanked her for saving my ass.”

She finally conceded after a pointed glare from her twin, because yes, she had been talking about it non-stop for the past couple of days. Lizzie couldn’t shake the odd feeling she got when they walked past each other at the park or ended up being the last two in the locker room again.

The auburn-haired girl had switched all of her shifts to early mornings and refused to make eye contact. Lizzie had the deep and running feeling that Hope Mikaelson was avoiding her like the black death- and the only explanation she could conjure up was a fit of running anger from her own lack of awareness when manning the wave pool.

Both girls exited the powder blue car and breathed in the last summer breeze the season had to offer. There was a hint of autumn in the air that made her want to fold into herself with a good book. The grass vibrated with the sound of the latest pop song, neon lights flashing against the dirty windows. Kaleb knew how to throw a party, and a small part of her admitted that.

Lizzie stopped short of the drive and blinked up at the blanket of stars. The moon, she had noticed, was finally at its full peak. It shone bright like a crimson ornament in the sky, hung expertly on the best branch.

“It’s kind of cool isn’t it?” Josie smiled softly, craning her neck “And spooky.”

Lizzie tore her gaze away and growled “I wish people would stop saying that. Come on, if I absolutely have to be here, I can’t do it sober.”

And maybe Josie was right; she didn’t’ feel the looming eyes of her coworkers prosecuting her for her mistakes. No one even dared a glance at the two of them, not right away. MG stood against the mantel with his own cup of mystery liquor, and he gave a slight dazzling wave.

The pungent scent of weed leaked from the upstairs floor and greasy pizza littered the granite countertops in the kitchen. A few lifeguards loitered by the fridge, laughing quietly about the Polaroid’s tacked up with alphabet magnets.

Lizzie wandered over to one of the counters and fished through the ice bucket filled with alcoholic lemonade and bud light. She opted for the off-silver can, pushing off the extra ice and water. She was content with a slight buzz and staying to herself in the corner, Josie rushed off once she found her usual shift leaders crowded around a table converted for beer pong.

Jed was lingering at the edge of his pack of friends, hand wrapped around a glass bottle and eyes flashing towards her every once and a while. Lizzie pretended not to notice and instead started to scroll through her camera roll like it was something more engaging, setting the nearly empty can on the counter. 

“Hi Liz,” He had moved closer, smelling of aftershave and sweat and whatever masculine scent his car had adopted. “I didn’t think you would show.”

Lizzie snapped her gaze up and shoved her phone in her pocket. “And why wouldn’t I?”

“You nearly let a kid die?” Kelsey had pushed herself close to the island in the middle of the kitchen, running a hand through dirty blonde hair that threatened to be greasy. She lifted the oil-stained lid of a pizza box before frowning and letting it fall back down. “I’m sure a party beats a jail cell.”

“Oh well, it’s never too late.”

She shoved herself from the counter, fully intent on joining MG next to the fireplace. Even if she did just stand there and listen to his off-handed conversation about who would best win in a fight between Superman and the Green Lantern. Jed took a step to block her path, giving a wolfish grin.

“Okay, Jockstrap, maybe you should get out of my way.” She knew her voice had gotten darker with the amount of patience she had left. People had never classified her as friendly, especially when she had a saint for a sister, but she had adopted the persona of intimidating.

Kelsey laughed, taking a long gulp of her own drink, “Sweetheart, we just want to know how on earth you even passed your entrance exam?”

Lizzie felt her nails dig into the palm of her hand because she knew she was a damn good lifeguard. She was human and she made mistakes, never had it been one that dire before and her mind was still grasping at that. She had studied for weeks and passed with flying colors- but she wasn’t about to give Jed or his little lackey the satisfaction of her fighting back.

“Leave the girl alone.”

Both lifeguards tore their predatory gazes away from Lizzie and situated them on the entrance of the kitchen; Hope Mikaelson seemed to stumble upon them, once again saving the day. Lizzie felt her blood boil because she had it handled. Much unlike the situation at the wave pool.

“Hope?” Jed had taken a half-step back “I didn’t’ think you were going to come tonight.”

“Funny, I was under the same impression.”

Kelsey swallowed loudly and lifted her chin in defeat, maybe even acknowledgment before the two of them stalked off and out of the kitchen entirely. Hope’s eyes were dark, darker than she had ever seen them before. Darker than that night in the locker room. She let out a sigh that was deep enough to echo a growl.

“I didn’t need your help.” Lizzie protested.

“Oh really? It seemed like you did. Jed and Kelsey would have eaten you alive, trust me.”

Hope turned away at once and left the kitchen through the hallway entrance. A small passage lined with photos of Kaleb’s family, one on the beach and two graduation shot’s. Lizzie pretended to ignore the fact that there was none of him. She followed her quickly.

“You can’t keep doing that.”

“Doing what?” Hope asked innocently.

“Swooping in like I’m some damsel in distress and you’re the hero that saves me from certain doom. I’ve got it covered, okay?” Lizzie reached forward and grasped at Hope’s wrist, trying to stop her halfway through the corridor.

Her back was suddenly against the drywall, the picture frames shaking at the strong impact. Though she had a few inches on Hope Mikaelson, she felt her heart rate spike. The other lifeguard had her pinned, a hand splayed next to her head and a dangerous hint in her stare.

“Don’t touch me, Saltzman. Not tonight.”

Lizzie gulped in the scent of vanilla and something metallic that she couldn’t’ place. Her voice came out a slight whisper and Hope’s impossible gaze flicked down to her lips. “What’s so different about tonight?” 

“Coming here was a mistake.”

Hope tore herself away from the situation and pushed towards the front door. Through a group of people too stubborn to move. Lizzie blinked twice and tried to clear her head of the intoxicating allure that she had never registered before. She followed her again, instant relief washing over her once she was away from the stuffy house.

Anger still bubbled like an unchecked stew. What Hope had just done was shockingly intimate and her skin tingled where her hands had all but lingered. She glanced up at the moon sparingly and padded onto the walk where she searched either direction, but no Hope.

A thicket of woods surrounded the back of Kaleb’s house and for some pulling reason, Lizzie decided to brave it. The neon light of her cellphone was enough to make up for what the Blood Moon didn’t- and really, it wasn’t so hard to move along the wet trees and the subtle sounds of crickets.

“Hope!” she called out, breaking the near silence.

Lizzie shouted out a few more times before she stumbled into a clearing surrounded by stars. The stretching grass reached her knees and swayed like a crimson ocean in the scattered light. A deep pit formed in the center of the blonde's stomach; because maybe this was a terrible idea. The hairs on her arms stood up at attention. She didn’t feel alone.

She scanned her eyes against the tree line as the wind picked up until they landed on a set of eyes. Too low to the ground to be human, glowing like the moon above as they bored into her. She had read somewhere that in the face of an animal you had to make yourself look bigger but all she wanted to do was shrink.

Lizzie was rooted in her spot, helpless as the creature slowly stalked from its home in the shadows. Large and black and bigger than any type of dog that she had spotted before. Its eyes were a dark red and a deep growl erupted from the wolf’s chest. Lizzie felt like her own was on fire.

Another, smaller wolf, that was spotted in gold followed, its stance strong and offensive. Now would be a good time for her to run, or to cry, she wasn’t sure which instinct would latch onto her first but with the way her eyes felt heavy she considered it was the latter.

“Good doggie,” Lizzie held her palms out and lowered them because she saw it in a Chris Pratt movie about dinosaurs once. But the animals kept approaching and her legs felt like Jell-O. “Nice doggie.”

The larger one snarled and crouched lower to the ground. Its tail tucked and nose crinkled, and suddenly it was increasing its speed. Lizzie dropped to her knees and clenched her eyes shut, and she waited for impact.

For the warmth of blood and the sound of her own screams. The thought of News Vans and police officers and yellow caution tape flashed in front of her instead of some poetic movie of the good parts of her life. Maybe they wouldn’t even find her body because it would be picked clean to the bone.

Instead, she breathed deep on the scent of soil as she felt it work its way under her nails. There was another noise, one that was louder than her own heart. A yelp of fear low enough to only come from the animal lunging at her.

She propped one eye open and saw the black wolf on its back, hissing out in what could only be described as palpable fear. The yellow one had its tail tucked and eyes averted, golden and flashing in the light of the moon.

Lizzie dug her heels into the dirt of the clearing and pushed herself back a couple of inches, propping up on her elbows. Another wolf, smaller than the black one and so gray it was almost white like snow, emitted a loud and commanding rumble.

She felt her hands dig right into the roots of the grass as if she gripped it for stability. The black wolf rose from its position and let out a huff of air before dashing back into the cover of the trees. Inky and all too consuming.

The newcomer sent out another warning growl before the second animal scampered away entirely. But Lizzie could still feel the fear in the air like electricity as the white wolf shot an accusing glare at her, leaking with the annoyance of something larger.

The hair on the wolf’s back suddenly smoothed out and its ears were flat, head dipping and brilliant golden eyes shrouded with worry.

Lizzie conjured her words “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She sat and stared at the creature for a long moment, feeling the sting where her palms had scraped against rocks and dirt. It cocked it’s large head to the side as if questioning her, and took a daring step forward.

“You’re not so scary, huh?” She leaned up a little bit and the wolf let out a huff of air as if to protest the statement. “Oh? And you can understand me too.”

Maybe this was a fever dream, she realized suddenly. She had fallen in the woods looking for Hope and had hit her head on a log or a rock. Someone would come looking for her eventually and she would wake up in a hospital bed with enough ammunition to get even with Hope Mikaelson for saving that kid.

“Lizzie!” The call of her sister broke the world that they were in and the wolf took a few ample steps back. Those brilliant marigold orbs scanning the tree line.

“Wait, don’t-“

But the wolf had already caught wind of the scent and was rushing in the opposite direction of the way it carried. Fluid and so strong in its motions that Lizzie was entirely sure that none of this could be real.

Her sister, covered in muck and dirt, sprouted through the trees, nearly falling over herself. Lizzie felt bad for the worry on her face and the pure fear that soon followed. “MG said he saw you run out of the house and go into the woods- what are you doing out here?”

“I needed some fresh air.” She didn’t even buy that.

“Then why are you on the ground?”

“Looking at the moon, you’re right. It is kind of cool.”

Josie suddenly got a pensive look on her face as she squinted at the apple-red color in the sky. She shook her head and reached a hand down to her sister, not minding the dirt or the possible blood that coated her own palm. She pulled her to her feet and glanced around apprehensively.

“Come on, it’s creepy out here and I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Lizzie didn’t’ answer, instead, she followed Josie and hoped that the shorter of the two knew where she was going. But her nerves eased as the electronic sound of the party's music started to fill her ears once more. She couldn’t help but agree;

This was too much excitement for one night.


	7. 'E' is For Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hizzie AU where Hope,Lizzie and Pedro are sent on a mission by Alaric and Lizzie’s car runs out of fuel in the middle of nowhere causing tension between the two?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is dedicated to the amazing Hizzie Discord❤
> 
> It's a little rushed, but trust me, the sentiment is there.

**Lizzie had fuzzy** red dice that hung from her front mirror. The fur was matted and an off-color of the crimson that they had once been. They swung obnoxiously back and forth each time she hit a pothole full force or swerved out of the way of a turtle slowly crossing the road. And God, Hope wasn’t a car person, but the thought of the blonde getting a car this nice (in theory) was a waste.

Hope pulled her heel onto the edge of the seat and rested her chin on her knee. They had been traveling down I-80 for the past three and a half hours. There was a lot more to look at during the start of the trip; fast-food restaurants, and apartment buildings that were strung in fairy lights to dull the drab setting.

Those soon drabbled into motels that buzzed with vacant signs and chipped painted totem poles that were innocent in the ’60s when they were first constructed but bordered on offensive today. Hope could smell the smoke and the stale air, even from the car as they rolled by. Artificial and sickening and everything that made her stomach churn- so she focused on what Lizzie was doing instead.

She wouldn’t call Lizzie a bad driver, but all means, she had seen worse. But she forgot about blinkers and the way that you eased into a stop instead of pushing your whole entire weight on the pedal. It had jolted Hope a few times against the flimsy seatbelt, but she kept her mouth shut to avoid an argument.

The scenery had rolled into large stretching fields of green that bloomed with white cotton. Little yellow signs that read _Do Not Pick_ dulled the novelty of the south for those who traveled through it to get to big theme parks or white sandy beaches.

“I spy with my little eye,” Pedro hesitated from the back seat, his little legs stretched over the leather as he gazed out of the opposite window. “Something green.”

This was so far from the super squad that Hope had imagined when Alaric first mentioned a lead in South Carolina. It was a five-hour drive through heat rolling hills and farms that smelled better than the motels they passed at the edge of big cities. Pedro was good company, and Lizzie was effective as long as her hands could be somewhere on Hope. But still- a recon mission for what could possibly be a powerful artifact? She’d rather of video chatted the historian.

“Oh, I don’t know. Is it grass?” Lizzie asked, drumming her thumbs on the steering wheel.

Hope glanced her way “It was grass last time. What about a tree?”

“Tree was three guesses ago.”

The tribrid let out a slight sigh and turned back towards Pedro. He had a triumphant grin on his face because they only had one more chance to get this right, and he had a strong winning streak going on right now. She frowned, “Bud, everything is green out here. Can you give us a hint?”

“It’s inside the car.”

Inside of the car, okay, Hope could do this. How many things in the old Chevy glowed green? She turned back around in her seat and stared at the controls that the inside of the car had to offer. They had updated the old radio to satellite but that was blue. Her eyes wandered past the middle console and over to the rest of the controls.

There was a tiny light of emerald that Hope couldn’t see when Lizzie shifted her hands around the wheel, but they were situated perfectly for her to get a good glance at it. The green color that Pedro had spotted was from a small warning light; a little gas pump.

Suddenly Hope didn’t care much about winning a game of I-spy. “Lizzie, when was the last time we stopped for gas?”

“Mm, right outside of North Carolina”

“North Carolina! Lizzie that was two hours ago!”

“Relax, this baby can run forever on a gaslight.”

Hope put both of her feet back on the car's floor and blinked dumbly at the blonde. They were in the middle of nowhere with absolutely zero civilization around for miles, other than a creepy farmhouse that they passed a few moments ago that she wasn’t even sure had people in it.

“I don’t want to know how you know that.”

Despite facing things on a whim, Hope Mikaelson liked to be prepared when she could be. She would lay out her outfits the night before class when she actually attended public school, and when she helped her father paint, she would chart out little maps on lined paper on where to find the best supplies.

“Listen, it’s totally okay. The next time we see one I’ll stop.” Lizzie explained, sensing Hope’s rising anxiety. “ _oh no”_

“Oh no? What Oh no?”

But she knew the answer already because no matter how good the Chevy was it couldn’t do its job without gas. The engine started to sputter and the speedometer slowly started to decrease. Pedro had unbuckled and moved in between the middle of the two girls, sandwiched in the center of the leather seats.

The old car gave out two more sputters as Lizzie pulled it to a stop on the side of the road and turned the key until they were overwhelmed by the silence of a hot country day. Lizzie frowned and said, “Okay, so maybe this was a misjudgment on my part.”

“Oh, you think?” Hope snapped, digging around her pockets until she found her phone and glared at the slowly dying mobile device. “And we have no service.”

Hope started to feel like the car was closing in on her and the sun that moved through the windshield was hotter than it should be. She hated being cooped up, with Lizzie Saltzman of all people and the way that she was staring at the long stretch of road ahead of her like nothing was wrong edged on infuriating. So she got out of the car and started walking the way that they came.

“Where are you going?” Lizzie exited after her, slamming the door and taking an even three steps along the side of the road.

“We need to find some help.”

“Oh, and trudging headfirst into a _murder house_ is going to do that for us?”

Hope stopped at that and turned to face the blonde bombshell. She had her hair pulled back as the air around them continued to thicken- continued to remind Hope of the swamps in New Orleans. She had shed her jacket, standing there in nothing more than a ratty t-shirt and a stark look of concern on her face.

“Think about it, Hope.” She closed the distance between them and Hope glowered “You march off like a hero and get yourself killed, who am I going to siphon off of?”

“Thanks for the concern, Lizzie. Really- the love is overwhelming.”

Hope took one half-step back and Lizzie reached forward, wicking the fabric of Hope’s shirt between her fingers. She held her in place, stared down at her, a slightly-green gaze shining in the sun. “I’m serious Mikaelson. I get a bad vibe from that place. I’m not saying you have to get back in the car but you can’t go there.”

This was the first time that Hope had seen, or heard, any type of genuine worry coming from Lizzie. It was occasionally directed towards Josie, or sometimes Alaric. But never once had she used this dark and concerned tone with her. She relented and let her shoulders slump, the gesture enough for Lizzie to release her, satisfied.

“So what do you suggest we do, then?” Hope asked.

“There’s a gas station two miles that way!” Pedro called out, holding out a folded map triumphantly. He had done more than either of them, circling the good spots to stop for food and the bathroom- and more importantly, fuel.

Lizzie had an odd prideful smile on her face “That kids smarter than the two of us combined.”

Hope chuckled and glanced back towards the old farmhouse before starting in the other direction, this time towards civilization. Pedro and Lizzie walked a few paces behind her, balancing on the cracked asphalt, using it like a tightrope.

“I spy with my little eye, something… Green.” Pedro piped up.

“Is it grass?” Hope called back.

“No,” Lizzie fretted “You guessed that last time.”


	8. Braving the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hizzie Summertime AU. Beach+smut? And feel free to do whatever you want with that because I trust you completely since you are amazing!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, fair warning folks, I haven't written smut in over a year now (It's not my favorite thing to do because I'm BAD at it) so go easy on me- or don't, honestly, I'm okay with anything as long as you guys tell me how you feel.

**The Rain had** begun to fall sideways; the type of downpour that stung against raw skin and soaked through every inch of fabric until it felt like the very bones inside of her body was encased in a block of cloudy ice.

Hope Mikaelson had made a lot of terrible choices in her life. When she was fourteen she played spin the bottle on Tommy Hart’s deck and ended up with a drool-coated make-out session that left her until face red and raw. In 9th grade she tried to outdo all the other boys in her gym class by climbing the rock wall without a harness- she was fine, of course, but still ended up with a month’s detention for her stunt.

And right now; as she stood in the center of an impending hurricane, she knew she had made another terrible choice. Because the waves had gotten twice her height and she had stupidly believed that the brawn of the storm wouldn’t touch upon the shore until later. Hope had either last track of time or had horribly misjudged the large rolling clouds that rumbled towards the small beach town.

A hurricane had the clearance to empty an entire tourist-filled boardwalk. People rushed towards grocery stores and panic-bought anything that was there. Bread and water always left the shelves first, and then milk- which Hope never really understood because power didn’t last long with winds like this. Then the snack food would dwindle and so would the alcohol because everyone needed something to do when they were trapped inside of their houses.

Hope had successfully loaded up her surfboard on the roof of an old blue jeep, her hands numb from the cold onslaught of water that rinsed away whatever salt had brined her skin. Another crack of lightning washed across the sky in an intricate pattern before rumbling thunder followed. And her keys- she couldn't find her keys. 

The palm trees started to hiss under the pressure thrown at them and Hope pushed falling drops away from her eyes as a beach umbrella, not tied down fully by its owner, folded like a piece of notebook paper barely scribbled on. Her skin felt numb, and so did her mind. There was no way she could get home in this.

She scanned the stretch of novelty shops, their lights all dimmed if not shut off entirely. There was a pizza place that had used slats of wood to cover up the vulnerable glass- and a shop that sold customized air-brush t-shirts. Each and everyone looked desolate and abandoned long ago. The news vans had scared everyone away and Hope suddenly wished they had done the same for her too.

Another gust of wind pressed rain deeper into her skin and a nearby palm tree, already bent under the current, finally snapped with a shattering crack, louder than any thunder had been. She smelt smoke and saw the red and orange sparks as bark sizzled against now-damaged power lines.

Hope doesn’t know if she screamed or not, couldn’t register it against her own fear, or the fact that the waves had gotten up to the docks and were tearing them apart from the threshold. She struggled to find her keys and her own breath against the hollowed wind.

The world blurred and her eyesight became fuzzy, and Hope wasn’t exactly sure if it was because of the storm, or her fear, or the pure way that her heart was pounding- but the taste of rain and the stinging feeling of hot sand against her skin was the last thing she could remember before everything faded to black.

 **Hope awoke without** warning. Her throat was raw and tasted thickly of salt and dirt. She didn’t want to admit that her entire body ached, because that wasn’t in her nature- not in the slightest. But a sharp wave of pain disregarded her entirely.

She blinked away the drowsiness and took in her surroundings; the wind howled like a wronged spirit just past the four walls that she was situated in. There were shelves lined with shirts, and a few bubble wrapped snow globes that were settled with snow. She was strung across a ratty old sofa that smelled like it had been soaked in air freshener and her wet suit was hung across the edge of a bookcase.

Her hands moved against her mostly nude body in a fit of panic and then pain. She was wearing a large t-shirt that stretched past her knees and had a printed hermit crab and obnoxious blue writing that read _“Shell Yeah, Beaches”._ Thankfully her underwear was spared as well.

Hope scoffed and pulled herself onto her elbows. The rain still roared outside and a pair of foggy storm doors were held shut with a couple of sandbags against the bottom of the panes. Green light shaded everything in the back stock room. Her head was throbbing.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Hope moved her eyes across the room to another door, a wooden one that leads to a large windowed store that she couldn’t distinguish from the rest of them on the boulevard. “You got hit in the head pretty hard, though. I was starting to get worried.”

A girl, a beautiful girl shrouded in the emerald light of the storm stood with a bottle of unopened water. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun and a t-shirt, branded with a fancy crest and the words _Myrtle Beach,_ stood at attention. Her eyes were what stuck with Hope the most, reflecting such raw concern.

“What happened?” Her voice was scratchy and foreign to her ears.

“Well, if I’m reading the situation correctly. You ignored every single warning on television, and by the national guard, and by whatever higher power created the hurricane in the first place by going out to catch some waves.” The girl closed the space between them and uncapped the water before shoving it Hope’s way.

Hope remembered that part just fine. “I lost my car keys.”

“And you got knocked out by an Umbrella. Drink all of that.”

She eyed the water warily but took a few sips before the cold numbed her throat and she lowered the bottle. The stranger seemed to be satisfied enough, she took it back before setting it to the side. Hope moved until she was situated at the end of the sofa.

“Thank you,” Her voice was slight and whispered. “I was being stupid and I could have died and… thank you, it’s not often you meet a kind stranger. Not here.”

She nodded and Hope would like to think that she understood. Would like to think that she would rush out into the storm to save someone she didn’t know too- but some part of her knew that with conditions like this in a city like this, she probably wouldn’t.

“I’m Lizzie,” The girl finally said.

“Hope,”

“Well, Hope, it looks like we might be here for a while. Garden City flooded completely.” She looked around the stock room, taking in the escape routes in case the water decided to rise too far and push against the inside of the store. “I’ve been listening to an old radio but that’s about to go out too.”

Hope let out a small groan and moved her head around. Her neck was stiff and there was a ringing in her right ear. She wondered if she had the imprint of a beach umbrella on the side of her face, and she wondered even more how Lizzie got her out of that wet suit. Her cheeks were suddenly red and eyes dark.

“Wait- did you see me naked?”

Lizzie lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and plopped down on the couch next to Hope. A healthy amount of dust pooled into the air. “You were going to catch your death if you stayed in that thing- and I swear up and down that I didn’t look intentionally.”

Hope chuckled and the sound was soft. “Did you at least like what you saw?”

The near-stranger stopped mumbling through her sentences and drew in a sharp breath. Those deep eyes bore into her own and Hope felt a chill rush through her. She knew how to outlast a hurricane- everyone who lived in this city did. And the lack of alcohol, and in this case, power, sparked something odd into her. 

“I mean, did you, I’m not trying to. Isn’t it an intrusion to?” Lizzie took a deep breath to still her words. “You’re very beautiful.”

“Mm,” Hope hummed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know if I got a concussion or not, but this whole knight in shining armor thing is very alluring.”

“Is it?” Lizzie had a bit of an edge to her voice and even in the greyish green light, they grew deeper in color.

Hope found herself leaning closer, over the middle cushion of the sofa. Because this was irrefutably her worst idea yet. For once, someone else had saved her, even if it was from a rainbow-colored beach umbrella. She considered it a win. She also considered the way Lizzie smelled light of lavender and rustic like the rain that had dried against her clothes.

Lizzie closed the distance between the two of them, her fingers soft against the edge of Hope’s chin. She tasted fresh, and her touch was gentle but rushed. Lizzie wicked her other hand through damp hair and bit down against her bottom lip, coaxing a moan from Hope’s chest.

Lizzie’s hand was moving, sliding evenly across her neck before resting close to her collarbone and she moved closer. In one fluid motion, Hope was suddenly being straddled, legs on either side of her as they pushed into the cushions of the couch.

Hope bucked forward under the weight and Lizzie pulled back slightly, “Let’s not get too excited-“She instructed and Hope nodded, feeling a pang at the loss of warmth that now hung between them. 

The blonde went back to work, this time moving her lips to the nave of Hope’s neck, biting and nipping lightly at her pulse point as the shorter girl growled in anticipation, leaning her head against the back of the couch. This girl was a tease- a skilled, but strong mannered tease.

She hadn’t noticed the way Lizzie’s hand moved across the contours of her skin, and the hot molten trails that each finger left behind as she neared the edge of her underwear. The fabric was cold and slightly damp from the wet suit, but even Hope could tell that that was nothing more than an excuse.

“God Lizzie, Please-“Hope mumbled, breathy and barely audible.

Her cheeks flushed to a different shade of red, she had never been one to beg. But as Lizzie's touch dropped between her legs she couldn’t help but squirm. Fingers traced evenly against her folds and a jolt of excitement moved through her like blood.

“What was that?” Lizzie snarled.

“I need you,” Hope panted out.

“Need me to what?”

She was starting to get frustrated, wanting to lift her hips, finally getting the sensation that she craved. But the patient look on Lizzie’s face was enough for her to struggle in steadying her breath, her words were still ragged “I need you to fuck me.”

The grin against Lizzie’s lips was animalistic and dark as she smiled into a biting kiss, she expertly pressed into Hope with a flowing motion akin to relief, two fingers working inside of her in a steady tempo that seemed to match up with her increasing heart rate.

Hope whimpered into Lizzie’s mouth, the sensation vibrating through her in the same rush that this morning had; that same edge of danger and content that standing at the edge of the ocean while storm clouds subtly rolled in and black waves towered over her.

“Fuck,” Hope snarled, dragging both of her hands down Lizzie’s back, not caring how the fabric of the shirt felt under her nails. The taller woman increased her tempo, and Hope took to arching her back throat tight with the rhythm of a snare drum. “Please…”

“Please what, Hope?”

She glowered at the woman straddling her; because Lizzie had all the power. Had every inch of it. She was cocky and snide and Hope thought that if they met under other circumstances she wouldn’t be the one pinned down. “Let me cum”

Lizzie gave her a pointed look and slowed her movements.

“Please,” She repeated, this time softer, with less anger.

Lizzie seemed satisfied enough and worked her fingers harder than she had before, pressing inside of her until Hope felt like she couldn’t quite breathe right, and the stars in her eyes began to circle like a constellation. She pulled herself forward, nose pressed against the side of Lizzie’s neck as she stifled a moan against her hair.

Hope tightened around Lizzie’s fingers and breathed in that same alluring scent of sweet and rain-soaked bliss. She resisted the urge to bit down on something and instead pulled Lizzie closer as she let out a sigh of content, but just as quickly began to ache as the abundance of touch was pulled away.

“That was one hell of an introduction,” Hope panted, swallowing back the taste in her mouth as Lizzie smirked like a wolf. Devious but ever so captivating. Both of her hands were on Hope’s shoulders before she reached to the side and grabbed the half-empty bottle.

“Drink the rest of this,” She commanded and Hope rolled her eyes, “I’m serious, you might have a concussion and-“

Hope shook her head and grasped the collar of Lizzie’s shirt, pulling her close, breath hot on the side of her cheek. “I’m fine.” She rumbled pushing Lizzie away from her gently until the taller woman was laying on her back, despite the musty sofa and the cold rain the poured outside. She ignored the headache and straddled the girl's stomach. 

“I think it’s your turn, Lizzie. On one condition.”

Hope traced her fingers against Lizzie’s collarbone, her breath picking up and eyes darting frantically in an attempt to read the misty expression on her face. “And what’s that?”

“I hope you remember how to beg,” 


	9. Motel Florida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The super squad has to go on a mission and Hizzie are 'forced' to share a room/bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance, I had WAY too much fun with this one. (Also no offense if you live in Kansas, I'm sure it's not terrible all the time but when I drove through it it was the worst things in the world)

**The room smelled** like stale cigarettes. It’s the first thing that Hope noticed after the dull click of an automatic lock. The second thing she noticed was the seeped carpet that must have been a brilliant yellow at some point but had darkened into a dull orange. The third thing Hope Mikaelson noticed was the lack of two separate beds.

Instead, there was one situated right in the middle of the room with a puke green quilt and a dark faux wood headboard that had been nailed to the wall. The lights buzzed the second Alaric flipped them on and part of Hope wanted to rush to shut them right back off again.

Lizzie was a little less subtle about her disdain. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

They had pulled off the interstate in the middle of Kansas at the first sight of civilization. For miles, it had been nothing but stretching green fields and a few staggered wind turbines that barely turned in the stale summer heat.

Hope had seen a billboard for a Wizard of Oz museum complete with sparkling red shoes and an animated version of a lion waving his broken paw. She wondered why a state like this would spend money on a sign that less than ten people a day would see, but it seemed like the only thing Kansas had going for it.

The old motel had a beach theme despite being so far away from the open body of water. There was a pink neon sign bent into the shape of a palm tree, and a smaller one underneath that read “Vacancy”. _Motel Florida._

She saw no effort of the carried theme in the rooms, though the keycards were a sandy color with wispy blue writing against the grain. She could feel the soft plastic bend under her tightening grip. Lizzie’s father didn’t’ pick up on her detrimental tone.

“Alright then, Landon and I will take room 207, and you girls can have this one.” He beamed.

Hope lifted a careful brow “does 207 have two beds?”

“Because if it does we should trade,” Lizzie’s voice dripped like sweet honey. She had quickly realized that the edge of attitude wouldn’t coax Alaric into a switch, but maybe the doting daughter act would. 

“Honey that’s illegal, even in Kansas.”

He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the forehead before bidding Hope goodnight and walking along the hot crosswalk towards his own room. Hope and Lizzie stared blankly at the bed, hovering in the doorframe for way too long. It was bad enough being trapped in a sweltering car with Lizzie Saltzman, but now she would have to share a room with her.

Hope finally sighed and entered the room, lugging her backpack with her. It had a few changes of clothes and a phone charger, nothing more. “I would sleep on the floor but I don’t think I would make it through the night.”

“Fine by me.”

Lizzie followed after her and closed the door to the noise of the rest of the world. No longer could they hear the buzz of the welcome sign or the hum of a television from the only other guests besides them in the building. She set her own bag on the floor by the covered window and ac unit. It chugged along.

“I’m going to shower. I want the left side of the bed.” Lizzie was rooting through her clothes before pulling out a pair of pajama shorts and a graphic t-shirt that was a blinding shade of pink before vanishing into the bathroom.

This was fine by Hope, she didn’t’ mind sleeping by a wall, especially when the wall had a plug. While Lizzie was occupied she pulled her own sleepwear out of her bag, shedding her jeans and tying a pair of gray sweatpants against her waist instead. She had unfastened the buttons on her shirt, feeling the cool air against her bare skin before the bathroom door burst open.

“I thought you were taking a shower?” Hope had turned her attention to finding a good t-shirt, pulling the button-down off entirely. Lizzie didn’t answer right away and looked more than green.

“yeah, I changed my mind.”

“Something wrong with the bathroom?”

“No,” Lizzie turned a fiery shade of blush before awkwardly crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay, there’s a bug the size of my _fist_ on the wall and I’m okay with using body spray if you are.”

Hope struggled to stifle a smile and shrugged her shoulders before peeling back the quilt and surveying the eggshell sheets for any sign of wings or creatures with more than two legs. She saw none and settled in- finally shooting a glance at Lizzie who hadn’t budged.

“What’s that look for?” The blonde spit out.

“Nothing! I just think it’s funny that we’re chasing down a rotten scarecrow reanimated by an ancient demon but a little bug scares you.”

“What about the sentence _the size of my fist_ tells you that that thing is little?”

Lizzie groaned at Hope’s dejection and padded across the room to her side of the bed. She carefully crawled under the blankets and reached over to flick off the lights. It plunged them into a blue hue of darkness, the sign outside the window creating neon designs on the orange carpet. Neither of them spoke and Hope turned towards the wall.

“Lizzie?”

“hmm,”

“Can you get your cold ass feet away from me?”

Lizzie shifted entirely in the bed and made somewhat of a grunting noise. Somehow the girl had gotten closer in the darkness and it didn’t’ exactly bother Hope; instead, it was something of comfort in a foreign environment. But the icy sensation on the back of her ankles wasn’t anything she was interested in. 

Moments later, Lizzie’s groggy voice filled the room again. “I want you to know that I have poor circulation and that’s a big insecurity.”

“Is your fear of bugs a big insecurity too?”

Hope knew that was a low blow and felt Lizzie’s foot push into her back a second later. She let out a small growl and turned away from the wall until she was face to face with Lizzie Saltzman. Her breath carried the edge of mint and even in the bluish glow of the room, she could tell that the taller girl was smirking.

“No, actually that’s just a preference, but the nightly leg spasms count.”

Hope was considering grabbing a pillow and moving to the car, but after two days on the road she couldn’t’ stand it anymore. She’d rather sit here glaring at the Saltzman twin like she could control the force without the will of some Latin and a kick of magic.

“If I go kill the bug, will you _please_ stop kicking me?” She tried barter over force this time.

Lizzie thought about it for a moment before huffing and giving Hope a nod. Even though it pained her, she pulled herself from the bed and walked into the small bathroom. It smelled too much like lemon and the light burned her senses.

Hope took one look at the giant creature under the faucet and blinked. She could have sworn that it blinked back and there was no way in hell she was taking on the furry spider that started to creep towards the drain. _Carry on-_ Hope thought bitterly before backing out of the bathroom.

She wordlessly flicked off the light and fell back onto her side of the bed.

“Something wrong with the bathroom?” Lizzie mocked.

“Shut _up,_ Saltzman.”


	10. A Midnight Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie Saltzman reminisces over the life she could have had, and the one she ended up with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was actually a little competition with @Ignalusa101 on who could write the saddest thing they could think of. This isn't where I want it to be entirely but hopefully, it does the trick. Go check out her story!

**The church on** the corner of 7 th and Russell had been abandoned for upwards of a decade, it’s once bright white walls were chipping and gray and the stained glass that had been expertly crafted had a fine layer of dust coating its biblical scenes of Christ and three wise men who had, in the end, been none the wiser.

Thin plastic had been taped along the mold-soaked carpet and a podium that once stood strong had been eaten away by termites; becoming a slight city for whatever eight-legged creature created a web in the corner.

Lizzie Saltzman held her purse in her lap, gripping it with brittle fingers as she glared at a spot that used to bustle with life. From the group of choir singers decked out in the most royal red to her own husband; nursing a worn and written copy of the bible. His eyes glinting as he preached the word of God.

Now she breathed in the old scent of decay and what little magic that was left in this small city. The sun streamed through cracks in the structure and caught loose dust in its crossfire. She leaned back further in the pew and closed her eyes; listening to the bell ring at the elementary school across the street.

“She’s been sitting there for quite a while.” Lizzie didn’t open her eyes when the man spoke. He was situated by the standing stone fountain, once flowing with blessed water. “Maybe we should call an ambulance, a nursing home?”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary.” A younger boy spoke; his voice was tender and kind and echoed against the fast church. “Go work on securing the perimeter. I’m sure I can talk to her.”

There was a hesitation and a heavy sigh before the officer’s boots cracked against broken windows and an unforeseen light filled the structure. Moments later, Lizzie felt the pew creak and groan under the pressure of another presence. She finally opened her eyes.

It was one of New Orleans’s finest, someone barely from the academy. Sweat dripped against the hot summer air and his breath was thick, almost forming a path close to the dust. She understood his wide-eyed stare and the way he fidgeted with his hands. A patch embroidered the words  _ R. TRAVIS  _ on his breast.

“You know they’re tearing this place down today?” Lizzie’s voice shook “I think they’re building a shopping mall.” 

He nodded in understanding “Did you used to come here?”

“My husband was the pastor here for fifteen years.” There was a ghost of a fond smile on her face, features sad and aged with the type of grace that only a Saltzman could pull off. “It’s where I fell in love.”

“This must be hard for you, then.” There was a slight pause as he stared at the crumbling steps and a grand piano that had been left untouched by squatters. Its lid was latched and a small seat strapped with red satin was tucked neatly underneath. “Tell me about him?”

“He was charismatic and strong.” She smiled and the edges of her eyes crinkled “I met him in high school, and he wasn’t’ a pastor then, I can tell you that much. Rod had a way of captivating an entire room but making you feel like it was only the two of you. He died seven years ago, a bad heart which is ironic, even for him.”

The officer shifted and stared at Lizzie Saltzman with big brown eyes that reminded her of her sister. Innocent and full of wonder and willing to believe the good in everyone, even until her last days. Her heart ached for a moment as she tore her own stare from the podium and the old piano.

“Rod was a good man and he lead a good church. But he wasn’t who I fell in love with.”

“You married him,” The officer said.

“Yes, I did, and part of me misses him every day. He was my best friend, not the person I was meant to live and die with.” Lizzie’s voice was slow and calculated. It shook and she wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with her age or the damp church that she recounted. “She could play the piano beautifully.”

Officer Travis had barely blinked in response; his eyes were trained on a water-soaked bible that had otherwise been untouched. It was resting in a small shelf behind the pew in front of them. He found it odd but figured that even people corrupt enough to break into a building like this had half a mind to leave the book alone. A few were scattered about the floor.

He had some time before the large dump trucks rolled up and they finally pulled this wreckage into a pile of wood and stone. He had even more time until the construction manager gave their unit another call to haul themselves away, and for someone like her, he would wait.

“Tell me about her, then.” His voice was easy and Lizzie blinked slowly at him.

“It was 1963, and you can only imagine how accepting people were of a relationship like ours. Especially when it came to the pastor’s wife, and his music director.” 

_ July 1963, New Orleans _

The office had an overlook of the city, its foundation resting on the edge of the Mississippi River. Large and looming ferries funneled water through spinning wheels, pushing black and gray smoke into the clear blue sky as if adding to the blanket of clouds.

In the evening, the water would shine with the golden charm of the cities nightlife. Parties on the edges of the docks and clubs that played the latest jazz music. New Orleans’s howled with life and fizzled with danger, the church is at the center of it all.

Lizzie Saltzman peered from a large bay window that faced the river and its unnaturally emerald water as she listened to Rod wrestle with the buttons on his shirt. The office that rested at the very top of the church was warm with a summer breeze.

“Oh, I know I’m not supposed to deny marriage, but dear-“he paused while he fastened another button. “They’re both so young.”

Lizzie couldn’t’ help but laugh at her husband as she turned from the window. Not in a cruel way, but one that leaked amusement instead. He was a tall man; sporting the darkest hair and clearest skin despite the season’s heat. They had been a poster couple. A cheerleader and her quarterback- the perfect all American family.

“Darling, you proposed to me the night of graduation.”

He let his shoulders drop and huffed in return, his hands fell to his sides. Lizzie beamed and crossed the old wood floor before leaning forward to fix his top button, and smooth his collar. There was an entire wedding just below a solid red door and a staircase. “I knew I didn’t want to spend my life with anyone else at that moment. Why wait?”

She ran her hands down his chest and pushed up on her toes until she sunk evenly into a kiss. Lizzie Saltzman never saw herself marrying that young, to a pastor of all things. But a clumsy football player out of Louisiana had captured everything she wanted. A simple and happy life with the possibility of a large suburban house and kids running around in the front yard. 

Simple and perfect.

The two of them pulled apart at the dull sound of a knock on the door. Lizzie moved her thumb against the side of her mouth and glanced over.

“I hate to interrupt, but I think we’re ready.”

“Oh, not at all, Hope. I was just getting finished up here, anyway” Her husband reached to his side and grasped his book of rehearsed lines before turning to the standing mirror once more. Rod inspected his appearance before walking down the first two steps. “You coming?”

The music director had her soft green eyes on Lizzie, and they flashed in something she couldn’t understand; she didn’t’ want to understand. She stood a few inches shorter than the blonde, dressed in mostly black, with striped pants cinched at her waist.

“Go on without me, I need to grab a copy of the sheet music.” Hope didn’t’ move her stare and Lizzie’s husband did as he was told. They stood in a stalemate until they heard a second door, one that leads to the main cathedral.

Lizzie squared her shoulders and crossed the room to a large green filing cabinet, left unlocked at all times. Her palms felt wet as she struggled to flip through the different documents and compositions that they used for their regular services. “You weren’t meant to see that.”

“You act as if it bothers me.”

“Doesn’t it?”

There was an eerie silence to the room as Hope moved through the threshold and closed the large red door behind her. It was a crass color compared to the softwood of the church. Lizzie stopped rummaging for just a moment before pushing on. 

Hope Mikaelson had been the choir director here for two years. Lizzie had hand-picked her after a night wandering helplessly through the French Quarter. She had situated herself at the bar and was on her third whiskey when the girl started to play; each note was dripping with emotion and she closed her eyes to the world as she worked through the composition. Lizzie offered her a job then and there.

Rod had grown up in a church-going family, and she had attended more services in their five years together than she ever did with her own parents. For Easter and Christmas- never anything short of obligated.

No, Lizzie Saltzman had never been very religious.

She breathed deeply on the sage scent that Hope carried as arms wrapped around her midsection. Her touch was overwhelming and sent a pang to the middle of her gut. Her fingers closed around a manila folder of sheet notes from last winter’s play.

“I figured it would disturb you more than me,” Hope growled into her shoulder as she pressed her lips close to her exposed skin. “You’re the one with the husband who can’t satisfy you.”

Lizzie resented that statement; Rod wasn’t terrible in bed, but for the past seven months he had been distracted where Hope certainly hadn’t. She was gentle and rough all at once, and her husband? Her husband had one setting.

She turned in the girl's arms clenched her jaw. “Now, that’s not quite fair. You know how I feel about doing this  _ here. _ ”

“You don’t even believe in a higher power.”

“No, but I believe in karma and something tells me that you should be downstairs playing the wedding march right about now.”

Hope let out a small agitated growl but dropped her touch. She had always been a poised woman, a foul-mouthed, binge-drinking, kind of woman but proper when it counted. Today she was disgruntled and annoyed; not wanting to take a seat at a piano without Lizzie by her side.

Without another word, she exited the small office, and Lizzie was keen on unlocking the bottom compartment of the filing cabinet where they kept the communion wine. 

She had spent the rest of the day up in the hot office, avoiding the wandering eye of her husband as he pulled on a simple t-shirt to ward off the heat that the slowly setting sun provided. Rod had driven home after that after Lizzie explained that she wanted to clear her head and walk to their small apartment downtown instead.

He had always been good about that, giving her the space that she needed.

Lizzie had finally blinked off the last dizzying effects of the three glasses of wine she had swallowed and walked down the stairs from the attic. The chapel was an instant and cool relief against her sweat coated skin. It was pristine despite the large ceremony that was just handled.

Peaceful, she would admit.

Large bay windows slathered in brilliant crimson and emerald green read like hieroglyphics, each one displaying a different biblical figure, and bowing with haloes and white cloths. If she hadn’t seen them a million times before, they would be captivating; entrancing.

“It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.”

She hadn’t noticed Hope leaning against the carpeted steps, a dozen pieces of music strewn out around her like a mosaic. She had a notebook and was scrawling different verses and hand-drawn notes with a sharpie that leaked through the thin paper.

“It does not dishonor others,” Lizzie frowned, and then glared “Don’t quote Corinthian’s at me.”

Lizzie had stilled at the thought of a sermon Rod gave weeks ago about infidelity. She listened and flipped through a magazine as he highlighted passages and murmured them under his breath. She watched his features carefully, and so did Hope when she sat calmly to the side of the service, legs cross and nails digging into her thigh.

“You’ve been quiet ever since.”

“I’ve had a lot to think about.”

“Me too,” 

Lizzie had been withdrawn from not only Hope but her own husband. She had fallen into the role of a housewife just like she had been expected to do. Rod was never one to push her but she could still see the flash of disappointment on his face when she had failed to have dinner on the table. She would soothe him with two martini’s as if that would make up for the taste of cheap Chinese takeout.

At night, Lizzie would go to that same Jazz club, Magnolia’s, and listen to Hope play from the darkest corner. The music would splash against white ivory keys and swirl around smoke-coated conversations and drunken laughter. But Lizzie never heard any of that; instead, she heard the haunting melody of Duke Ellington.

“We’re bad people, Hope.” Lizzie set her bag down on the closest pew and walked towards the steps. Hope had been drawing lattices in the carpet with her finger but pressed her palm and smoothed out the pattern. “Now, I’ve never paid much attention to right and wrong before, that was Josie’s job, it seems. But something about this…”

“You owe it to Rod to be faithful.”

Lizzie nodded solemnly before she lowered herself down next to the girl. Hope smelled like herbs and the forest after a thick sheet of rain had soaked through the earth. She had a focused look on her face and nearly frowned at the music in front of her.

“Lizzie, have you ever played the piano?” Hope’s voice was a dull whisper.

“No, never.”

She had sat next to Hope while she played, however. Lizzie would watch as her fingers moved over the keys as if they had a mind of their own. Separate notes would meld together until they were strung into something beautiful and captivating, and entirely raw.

“When I was seven, my mother hired an instructor. They thought that I had some magical natural born talent and I suppose some part of me did. But I was bad, and the notes were sour-“Hope let out a dry laugh “And each time I hit the wrong cord or leaned too heavily on the pedal she would take a ruler and strike me with it.”

“That’s awful.”

She ran a finger over her knuckles, over the darker edges of skin that Lizzie had never noticed before. Hope would wear rings or in some cases gloves. But the scars were a faded color now, even if the memories weren’t. Hope took a shaky breath.

“Though cruel, it had the right effect. Soon I stopped thinking about the end goal and focused more on the notes I had to hit in order to get there. But even still, my hands ache when I’ve done something wrong.”

“I’ve never heard you play a sour note-“

“Not with the piano, Lizzie.” Hope had reached out and put a warm hand on Lizzie’s knee. The simple touch was electrifying and warm and comforting even when she didn’t want it to be. “Every time I pick up a drink or run a stop sign, even when I don’t tip a musician less fortunate than me on the street corner.”

Lizzie stayed silent but listened as a car pushed past the main road, the stray sound of someone blowing into a trumpet shook the glass. Hope was stewing, trying to find the right words to say. “The point is, Lizzie, I don’t feel like I’m doing something wrong when I’m with you.”

In the moment; in the subtle touches and the way that Hope brushed hair behind her ear. How she slid her tongue over the roof of her mouth and placed a protective hand on the center of her back, how she always tasted of vanilla and tobacco- No, Lizzie didn’t’ feel like it was  _ wrong.  _ In fact, it never felt more right.

But when she pulled her car up to the house, her body buzzing with emotion, and saw her husband scrawling in notebooks or positioned by the television that he would promptly shut off when she passed through the front door- she felt like a monster. Someone only giving 80% when he had given her nothing short of 100. Her heart would spike when he mentioned her smeared lipstick or the way a button wasn't fastened at the top of her blouse, but he would never question her commitment. 

“God,” Hope moved her hand from Lizzie’s thigh and worked it through her hair “This would be so much easier if he wasn’t such a good guy.”

“That’s why I married him.”

Hope nodded and the gesture was soft. Everything about her always had been. She leaned forward and started to collect the different papers that were stained in black coffee and partially damaged from getting caught in the rain weeks earlier. Lizzie had driven across town to Lafayette cemetery no.1.  She hadn’t asked why Hope was there, or why her breath mixed with the stench of whiskey or bourbon. But she tasted like the rain and loved like an unforgiving storm.

“What’s this?” Lizzie pawed at the paper closest to her. It wasn’t a psalm that she was familiar with, though Hope kept the sheet music around for show. Each of the songs had been engraved into her mind with a chisel. This was different:  _ A Midnight Sun _

Hope snatched it away and shoved it into her bag with the rest of them “It’s nothing, just a stupid little composition.”

“Is it original?” Hope nodded and Lizzie held her hand out once more, flexing her fingers like a child begging for sweets “Then It’s not stupid, now hand it over.”

Hope scowled at her for a moment before her features softened and she pushed the paper into Lizzie’s open palm. The lines had been sloppily drawn in pencil and then retraced in a spot of dark ink. Though she couldn’t’ understand much of the notes, she had made a show about retrieving them so she’d be damned if she didn’t take her time. “Play it for me?”

The auburn-haired girl stared blankly at the empty church. The sun had finally vanished behind the trees and a lavish golden light bathed over them. In this moment it only felt like the two of them- despite the stained glass and the statues, and every single passage in that book proclaiming them sinners.

She relented and unlocked the gold clasp on the piano, scooting to the far end of a red satin stool. Lizzie knew her place; taking a seat next to Hope as she situated the music ran her fingers over the keys without pressing down on a single one. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and glanced at the girl to her side.

Hope tested the first note like cold water on a glimmering lake, but she never drew back, always sure of herself. And then she closed her eyes, robbing the world of her mossy stare. But Lizzie didn’t’ mind too much- because she admired when Hope did this, when she focused entirely on the music and the way it flowed through the air.

The music was soft at first but filled with stock and pain. Her touch pressed hard on the keys and it echoed from the church walls. Lizzie felt each note like a small knife sliding past her skin- music wasn’t music if it didn’t harm you.

This tune did; it sliced her open with a double-edged blade and pooled crimson that would soak into even the whitest of gowns. Lizzie swallowed the lump in her throat and studied Hope’s face as she played; as much as she tried to shield the world from her pain, it streaked her cheeks in even lines and dripped from her chin.

Lizzie drew in a breath and it burned her throat. She placed her hand on top of Hope’s halting the notes as an off-tune sound ripped through the church. Her other hand stopped but her eyes didn’t’ open.

A midnight sun: It burned so brightly in something completely dark. It was unnatural and something that was impossible to ignore. A midnight sun was an abomination, but not something you would ever deny.

Lizzie pressed her nose against Hopes' cheek, finally moving her hand to cup her other cheek. It was wet and hot and though it was nearly impossible she did try to wipe the tears away. “Hope, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Her words rumbled in her chest and her eyes finally opened, they poured into Lizzie’s unchecked and sad. “You made a commitment and I… I fell for a woman that I couldn’t have.”

Lizzie kissed her, soft at first, just like the music. She tasted like salt and the ever-draining heat. Hope returned the gesture weakly before pulling away and keeping her forehead pressed close to Lizzie’s.

Hope sniffed and gave her a sorrowed smile “It is not proud.”

She smiled back, her own sadness weighing down on her body as if someone had finally pushed her into the frigid Mississippi rapids with a cinderblock looped around her ankle. “It keeps not record of its wrongs.” 

_ May 2020, New Orleans _

Officer Travis stared at the scattered papers on the floor, the way the walls had warped from years of horrible weather and a fair share of hurricanes. He could see where the water had risen and a small fire had been created from splintered in the corner- now nothing more than a pile of ash. And more than anything, he watched an old woman cry.

“Did you ever see her again?” he asked.

“Of course I did. She played piano for the church for another three years before she died.” Lizzie moved her eyes to the young man, too broken for his age. “In 1966 she was walking home from Lafayette Cemetery when it started to rain. The car didn’t’ see her- and dear, she never told me why she visited so often. It wasn’t my place to ask, but I can only assume it was for her family.” 

Officer Travis leaned back against the pew and found himself staring at the piano. He felt a deep and relentless ache in his chest and couldn’t tell if it was from the story or the magnitude of dust that bloomed when the door opened to the church.

His partner was coated in sweat, his fingers on the edge of the radio. “Everything okay here? The construction company just pulled up.”

He nodded and stood from the pew before extending his hand and helping Lizzie up from the bench. She didn’t fight it, she knew it was time to go. It had been years since she stepped foot into this church- because after all, she was never very religious.

“I ran her plates and got a hold of her daughter, she’s outside to pick her up.”

Officer Travis wasn’t worried about the old woman, he hadn’t been from the start. But he met her daughter at the door, who apologized time and time again about the situation. Like any good cop would he reassured her that it was fine, and there was no point charging someone for trespassing when a place was about to be torn down.

They watched as the two of them drove away and the taillights of the car blinked at them like a cajoled demon. “What as all that about?”

“It was nothing, go to the patrol car; I just have to take care of something, okay?”

His partner looked at him curiously but nodded and walked down the crumbling church steps. Officer Travis turned back to the old church with the dim stained windows and the old piano. He walked up the aisle, boots cracking over charred wood and shattered glass.

The stairs groaned under his weight, water having robbed it of any stability long ago. The old grand piano had been chipped and weathered each of its internal strings being cut and frayed with time. Still, he knelt down on the wet carpet and stared at the scattered yellow papers.

He had shuffled through stacks of classic psalms and compositions until he reached a single worn page of notebook paper. The lines had been sloppily drawn in pencil and then retraced in a spot of dark ink. This had been different:  _ A Midnight Sun. _


	11. Double Edged Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Season 2 is still not available in my country, so i need fanfiction to fill the empty void now. Pirate AU: Up to you what ship you use because i ship them all at that point. Posie, Hosie, Hizzie, Phosie... Just imagine how good they will look in those clothes! Though Penelope teasing the shit out of Josie and Lizzie and Hope trying to kill each other while deeply in love would be a treat. Go as angsty as you'd like; but please don't kill them... and i'm a sad bitch i really need a happy end xD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You now horse girls? well, I was a pirate girl.

**The window had** frosted over in the dull twilight. A full moon hung low in a velvet sky, its glow pushing close to the cobblestone streets and crowded pubs. The room was bathed in black and heavy with the scent of sex. Silk sheets clung to Hope as she stared at the ceiling, heart pounding and mind finally dwindling off to something other than the noise downstairs.

“What’s it like?” The girl beside her panted as she scooted up against the headboard, reaching blindly to the side table for a rolled cigarette, a flame shaded her face before the scent of fig and smoke coated her lungs. “Being one of them?”

Hope drew in a deep breath and her throat burned, her fingers curled around the bedsheet. “There’s a rush in it, I suppose. Nothing you can’t get out of sex.”

“Then why do it at all?” The girl took a long drag.

There was a crack against the wooden ceiling, soaked in water, and warped from the open windows that lead to the sea. That question had never been prompted before. It was easy to fall asleep in one of the rooms above the pub. She would leave before morning and move her aching body back to the ship as it rocked back and forth with the waves.

“Legacy,” Hope turned on her side and stared at the girl, her silhouette in the darkness “My father was a feared man, a memory of a nightmare. People used to call him the king of the seven seas, and he lived up to the reputation. It left me no choice, I suppose.”

The red glow of the rolled paper simmered like the eyes of a demon, blinking as she lowered it once more. “You always have a choice.”

“What type of woman becomes a school teacher when her family slaughters townships and holds ransom for gold? It would be a death sentence.”

She could imagine a red building perched on the top of a rolling green hill in the country. There would be no ocean in sight, not even the scent of salt. It would be a simple life without the knowledge of how to use a sword or the scent of gun powder. In another universe-maybe, but this one left her with the residual taste of rum.

“What’s it like killing someone, then?”

The girl had stamped out the tobacco and it left them bathed in eerie darkness. Hope frowned, even with the understanding that neither of them could see it. It was another question that she hadn’t been asked- though not many people stopped in the face of danger to have a civil conversation with her.

“You know, I’m not paying you to talk,” Hope growled, deep and husky as she moved across the bed and straddled the girl. Their bodies were warm and slick, her hand planted on the headboard. She tasted of ash and vanilla. “Or ask questions.”

Hope leaned down and bit softly at the girl's jaw before moving to her neck, her pulse right under her tongue. She almost didn’t hear the pounding on the door- and even then, she didn’t respond to it. It wasn’t until a warm light and the noise from the pub filled the room that she pulled away with a snarl.

“This better be important.” Hope didn’t bother turning to face the door.

“Ma’am there’s a crew downstairs.” The wench that stood so easily behind the bar stumbled with her words. She paid more attention to the noise in the pub now- it wasn’t the usual drunken laughter and jovial conversation. She hadn’t yet heard the firing of a gun, but there was a struggle, sharp and dangerous.

“Shit.” She glanced down at the girl, “It’s been fun,”

Hope stumbled off the bed and pulled on a pair of loose pants before fastening the belt and her shirt. The fabric was rough against her skin- all too uncomfortable. She grasped her boots and slid them onto bare feet.

“I would advise the window.” The woman responded, glancing towards the commotion once more.

She nodded curtly before unlatching the iron edge and getting a good look at the alleyway that it lead to. There was a certain crispness to the air and her breath pooled in front of her quickly. Despite the scuffle in the establishment, the night was oddly quiet.

It wasn’t a far drop, Hope had done worse. She felt her boots against the cobblestone and a dull ache in her ankles as her fingers touched the wet surface. But still- she was washed with relief. After a few pints and something even more, it would be difficult to fight.

Hope straightened up and looked towards the British port town.

Her back was suddenly against the wall of the pub, digging into her shoulder and forming a brash pain. But it wasn’t what Hope was focused on most- instead, it was the double-edged blade that was pressed against her throat, so sharp that it could split a hair. She grasped blindly for her own.

“Don’t fucking move.”

The open window above them swam with sheer white curtains, and despite the order, she glanced up. Her weapon was still leaned against the desk, scattered in paper and receipts and wax-sealed letters. So her attention flickered back to the stranger.

Even in the dull light of the moon, she could tell that the woman was breathtaking; dressed clad in a red trench coat that sparkled like her own spilled blood. A white shirt hugged her frame under that, long blond hair flowing over squared shoulders. She was a rich pirate. Not one too afraid to flaunt her treasures while Hope guzzled most of her own down on weekends.

The woman’s knee pressed between her own. “You’re coming with me.”

“Now, while that sounds enticing, I’ve already had enough fun for one night-“ Hope snapped her jaw shut when the blade pressed deeper into her skin and a searing scar blossomed. “Right, Okay, you lead the way.”

She smiled then, not something kind, but all together threatening. It was wolfish- primal even. “I don’t trust you, Hope.”

In one swift movement, she took the blunt end of the sword and hit her across the temple. A metallic taste coated her tongue and a sharp ringing hissed all at once; before the world suddenly turned black.

 **The first thing** Hope Mikaelson heard was the low call of a seagull. There was a stifling heat to the room that did nothing to quell her slowly edging headache. It started at her temple and throbbed to the back of her neck, mouth thick with the taste of blood.

She groaned and shifted against sheets, her muscles tightening with sudden movement. Her eyes burst open and she cringed away from the abundance of sunlight. Hope blinked it away and took in her surroundings.

She was in a small room and even now, she could tell it was on a ship. It rocked back and forth with the tide, a small window bleeding with the sun. Hope was situated on a twin bed, the white sheets soaked in dirt. Her fingers shook as they pressed against her temple and she pulled back, hand wet. There was a tiny desk and a gas lantern adjacent to her and a dresser bolted to the floor.

The scent of saltwater coated her lungs, even as she grimaced and plopped her face back down onto the sheets. The smelled like lavender; like one of the large homes her father kept in the south. The summer breeze would fill the room and catch whatever book she would get lost in. There were fresh roses and a hedge maze that she would spend hours in, turning herself around.

Hope longed for those days. With the shaded porch and the sickeningly sweet lemonade served with biscuits. Her mother’s smile and the way she would point out the blue jays that landed on a feeder.

Now, her jaw ached and her heart throbbed, and she wished she hadn’t spent most of her evenings drinking herself into a stupor before sharing in close encounters barely remembered in the first place.

They, whoever they were, could kill her. Would kill her the second they got what they wanted.

Hope stood shakily, ignoring the dull nausea that filled her stomach the second she changed positions. She walked towards the desk and pulled open the bottom compartment. There were a few sheets of paper and the latest dictionary bound in leather. She pushed both aside before reaching for the very back.

“You’re not going to find a letter opener if that’s what you’re after.”

Hope froze and slammed the drawer shut before turning towards the door. It was the same woman from last night. She had shed her coat, the warm ocean breeze pushing easy white cotton against her frame. Her eyes were a ghostly blue, almost shining gray. There was a metal tray in her hands and a sword that Hope tried not to stare too intently at, attached to her belt.

She took a couple of steps forward and closed the door behind her before setting the food on the top of the dresser. “We’re about a hundred miles from the nearest port, and heading further.”

“you’re saying there’s no use in fighting, then?” Hope’s voice settled like stone.

“I’m saying you can try. If you get through me, there’s a whole crew waiting just beyond that. It’s up to your discretion if you want to try to survive at sea in your weakened state.” She spoke nonchalantly.

Hope glowered, but couldn’t’ help but lean against the desk for support. “Who are you?”

“Elizabeth Saltzman,”

Saltzman… the name sounded familiar, a trade family that used to run errands or her linage. They were well regarded until her father’s untimely demise last fall. It had been every ship for themselves, all order dripped away.

“Right, and what exactly do you want with me?” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned closer to the desk behind her. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by now.”

“We’re taking you back to Charleston.”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll chance the sharks.”

“The Yankee’s have a bounty on your head, Hope. 19,000” Elizabeth quirked a brow “If the posters didn’t’ say alive, I would have skinned you on the spot, don’t get comfortable.”

Hope clenched her jaw, but didn’t like the way her head throbbed in response, so she softened her expression. It would be weeks until they got to the port in South Carolina, months if the weather wasn’t careful. Still- she stared Elizabeth Saltzman down like she had the upper hand. Like she wasn’t the one dehydrated and bloodied.

“Eat something, will you?” She turned and exited the room before slamming the door shut and dead bolting it with a deafening click.


	12. Live in the Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hope and lizzie morning fluff please. Because I am such a sucker for it and I really really need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's something cute and fluffy for you guys! We finally had a good thunderstorm here and it started to remind me of home. So it got me in the mood to write! You honestly don't realize how much you miss the rain until you move to the desert, but oh well.

**Lizzie Saltzman had** always been a light sleeper. Part of her thought that it had something to do with her pension for protection. When she and Josie shared a room through high school, and then begrudgingly college, she would always stir the second her sister shifted. When a door would open, or a group of people from down the hall drunkenly stumbled back to their rooms during the latest hours, she would always pull from sleep.

Her marriage to Hope had been the exact same but accompanied by more worry. Lizzie knew that Hope needed to get out and stretch her legs, that the insomnia would run circles in her mind until nothing else mattered and she had to break away from the track. Hope would always slither back into the room and Lizzie would hold her close and not let go. She would soothe the goosebumps against her skin and breathe in the pine scent that she carried.

And right now, in the middle of the night, Lizzie shifted to the sound of a crackling baby monitor.

She inhaled and stared at the ceiling, inky and black, before glancing over at the small white device on their bedside table. Hope had blinked herself awake too, but the both of them held still; praying silently that Andi would just fuss herself back to sleep. The flashing red numbers on her alarm clock read barely 2 am.

But then the screaming started, and Lizzie knew it would wake up the dog curled at the bottom of their bed, if not their next-door neighbors. Hope sat up and scratched the back of her neck “I’ve got it.”

“You got it last time,”

“And you need your rest.” She stood sliding on a pair of the nearest sweatpants. She struggled to do it gracefully “You have that big presentation, and I refuse to let you do it sleep-deprived.”

Before Lizzie could open her mouth to protest, her wife was padding out of the bedroom. Her shoulder hit the doorframe as she rounded the corner “Ow! I’m good.”

Lizzie couldn’t help but smile in the dark before flopping back down on the bed. It smelled thickly of Hope, of the two of them together. It was an intoxicating mix of vanilla, old books, and lemon. She couldn’t help but remember the people who thought Hope would be bad at this- that she would run despite the very resolute decision the two of them made together.

Her own father had struggled to keep his orange juice down the morning both of them sat across from him in a nice little bistro on the west side of town. He knew something was weighing on them and agreed to take a trip from the school into the city. They let him get comfortable with a couple of mimosa's before proceeding.

“Elizabeth,” he had used her full name, which was never a good sign “not that I don’t think the two of you are ready- because you are, but… what if you have twins?”

It was a weighted question, one that both of them had mulled over for a long time. It wasn’t impossible for the Gemini coven to have something other than twins, but it hadn’t happened in centuries. A witch had never been with anything but another member of the coven before either, and Hope was everything but.

Alaric didn’t say it outright that day; but after explaining the process, and the thousands of dollars that they were putting into this, into making sure that their child had a bit of Lizzie and Hope, he was worried- worried about the Mikaelson genes too.

“Don’t worry, Rick” Hope took a bite of her eggs and chewed them thoughtfully “I hardly have the temper my father did. The odds of our kids getting it are low.”

That seemed to ease his nerves and the three of them finished breakfast in a comfortable silence. Of course- as things went on and Hope stood by Lizzie that entire time, his worry dissipated even more. But not enough to tell Josie that she needed to keep an eye on the both of them, which she did.

Lizzie didn’t have twins, and Hope put her all into Andi. Into making sure that she was strong and okay, and quite honestly it turned the big bad tribrid into something soft and loving. Something that would wake up in the middle of the night and rock her back to sleep just so Lizzie could be prepared for her own endeavors.

She settled so easily into a haze of sleep before the monitor crackled again, this time, with Hope’s voice.

“Oh, you’re okay” She cooed, her voice a low whisper. Lizzie heard a few creaks, Hope lowering herself into the rocking chair that they picked up at a garage sale a few months back. Andi fussed before quieting just a bit. “Alright then, how about I tell you a story?”

Lizzie curled her fingers around her shirt and stared diligently at that same spot that she always had. She usually drifted off by this point, lulled to sleep by the time Hope started to speak. It seemed like a ritual on nights that they traded off.

“Once upon a time, there was a wolf queen who fought a war for the most precious treasure in the kingdom, her beautiful little princess. But, victory came at a price.” Hope’s voice was soothing, quiet “Allies were lost, and new enemies were made”

Lizzie turned to face the monitor staring at the small device as if it would be some act of comfort. Hope had put it so delicately; the way that people had been after her for most of her life. How each move they made, even now, needed to be calculated and justified.

“But the wolf queen wasn’t alone. She had the most beautiful, compassionate, stubborn, woman to rule by her side. Believe me, she was meant to rule. And you should know, my littlest wolf, that even when all seems burnt to ash- in our story, there is always another chapter to be told.”

She had fallen into a deep slumber by the time Hope slid back into bed, cuddling up behind her until the two of them were tucked away together. Their legs were entangled and the monitor clicking to a soft silence.

Lizzie had slept in longer than she intended to. The sun was streaming through stinted blinds and pushing into every inch of the room. She hadn’t heard Andi stir, which was odd and enough to get her to pull herself out of bed.

She padded out of the room and down the steps until she could catch the scent of eggs and bacon, and the strongest coffee that they had. Lizzie leaned against the doorframe and watched as Hope moved around the kitchen, a small radio blasting today’s pop hits. She hummed along and dragged a fork against the slowly forming eggs.

Andi kicked her feet back and forth, sitting at the kitchen table with a few cheerios against the surface. She let out a string of noises and gave Lizzie a big toothy smile before stretching out her arms and flexing her fingers.

Lizzie beamed and pulled her daughter from the high chair “How’s my girl?”

“Oh, she was a little fussy this morning. But I’m happy to say she’s doing well.” Hope smiled as she moved the pan to the counter and quirked an eyebrow “I figured I’d let you sleep in for once.”

“you let me, or I just didn’t wake up.”

“Which one gets me more points?”

Lizzie laughed and placed their daughter back into the highchair. Hope was dressed lazily in the same sweatpants as last night and one of Lizzie’s flannels rolled up to her elbows. She had an easy smile on her face and a deep light behind her eyes.

She reached forward and grasped onto the collar of the woman’s shirt, pulling her close. “Will you at least let me help with breakfast?”

“Oh, if you insist.” Hope leaned forward and kissed her, gentle “As long as you don’t burn the bacon again. The fire alarm scares _all_ of us.”

Lizzie placed her fingers on her wife's waist, the other slung lazily against the collar of the flannel. “Oh please, I can handle a little cooking.”

Hope hummed into another kiss, “We’ll see.”


	13. Braving the Storm [P2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: omg haha that was completely my fault for not being specific! especially bc i like the other fic too! if you're considering writing a pt 2 to the one where hope is a surfer you definitely should bc that's my fav ❤️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to give this another disclaimer, even though you guys have seen first hand how horrible my ability to write smut is. This is also terrible- but please let me know what you think!

**The warm summer** wind curled around Hope Mikaelson’s legs, the thick scent of the sea pulled at every inch of her as she walked along the mostly vacant beachfront. The sky was cloudless and large water-washed rocks sat littered with seaweed drawn in from the storm. She reveled in the silence.

Her board had been broken and her keys were somewhere in the sand. Despite the warnings and her pounding headache, she took to searching the stretch of land helplessly. Palm leaves and different patio furniture that hadn’t been bolted down lay crumpled and broken. She had left Lizzie at the store, had flushed, and walked out because she couldn’t even justify what had happened.

Concussion or not, Hope Mikaelson wasn’t one to have a quick fuck in a stock room an play it off like it was nothing. She liked to have a connection, or at least a decent meal with a woman first. Hell- even a last name would settle the odd feeling in her stomach. But no, it wasn’t her.

She frowned and kicked weakly at a pile of sand that could have been a magnificent castle with a trapped princess and a valiant prince who would have been a woman all along; because only someone with the female sense could rescue a girl from a tower that large. Finding her keys was a long shot.

Hope had fastened a pair of fake lifeguard pants around her waist- the word was misprinted and the color was an abrasive shade of red. She flexed her toes in the wet sand and breathed in the overwhelming scent of rain and her own sweat, shockingly glad that Lizzie had forced her to down that much water. It eased the nausea in her stomach.

The world felt like it was on its edge; everyone still huddled in their homes either too drunk to see the light of day or too concerned with the power lines and rising water to venture past thresholds. She stared at the waves like so could see the clear line where it cut off, watched as rolling darkness hurried away.

“You’re following me now?” Hope didn’t tear her eyes away from the ocean.

“I figured if you dropped out of nowhere, you’d want someone around.” Lizzie grimaced before taking a breath “I don’t know how concussions work.”

Hope chuckled and glanced over; Lizzie looked effortlessly captivating in the sunlight. Her hair caught every turn of the wind and her eyes were bluer than the very waves they stared at. Her nose was red and raw and her expression was tired but content. It matched how Hope felt.

“It’s just a little headache, I’ve had a few.”

Lizzie lifted a perfect brow as if prompting her to continue, to fill the unwavering silence of their Eden.

“Before I started surfing, I skated. God, my mom was furious with the choice but knew there was no talking me out of something I was determined to do. She took me to a skate park and without any training, or practice, I took to it. I fell within seconds and she had to take me to urgent care for some stitches. I had a concussion then, too.”

“You sound like you’re stubborn.”

“The best people are.”

Lizzie smiled, and Hope couldn’t tell if it was more to her, or to the world. Either way, she could feel her palms sweat and her throat tingle. There was an odd pull to Lizzie, one that made her feel like it would be okay to straddle in her a back stock room filled with cheesy t-shirts and multicolored rocks that they bought in bulk.

“I’m not like that,” Hope finally stumbled out.

“Stubborn?”

“No, I’m more stubborn than I’d like to admit. I meant… I’m not someone who plays into that whole surfer stereotype. I don’t just fuck random people because they saved my life, or whatever.” Hope’s cheeks felt hot and she averted her gaze.

Lizzie took a deep breath and turned until she could face Hope entirely, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re thinking too much. You’re not the only one who got something out of that, you know? Don’t run yourself ragged over something silly.”

“Like morals?”

“Well, I suppose it depends on who you ask, but yes.”

Hope shoved her hands into the pockets of the cheap sweatpants and sighed “it doesn’t bother you in the slightest that I wouldn’t have given you a second glance if it weren’t for this hurricane and a rainbow umbrella?”

“Oh, should it? People don’t tend to notice a girl behind a counter when all they sell is novelty items. Why would someone who lives here have any reason to buy another shirt with the state they live in, embroidered on the breast?”

Hope weighed her options and her outlying guilt. Lizzie had a point- when she first moved here she was captivated by the glass-plated buildings and what they had to offer; the towels that were screen printed with images of sunsets, the key chains flashing with the most common names, and whatever neon toy was on the market.

“So, just sex?” She sounded out.

“Just sex, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

She pursed her lips and turned back to the waves, watching as they pulled a generous amount back out to sea. Hope had never had an offer like this laid out on the table, not so bluntly, anyway. There had been hookups and long term relationships. But never something just focused on the end goal of pleasure.

“Okay,” her voice was slight “Yeah, we can do that.”

Lizzie nodded, seemingly satisfied with herself, before turning and walking back towards the boardwalk. Hope hated the fact that she watched the entire way, and felt an odd type of ache in the bit of her stomach. But maybe that had something to do with the fact that she couldn’t find her keys.

 **It took two** weeks for their small town to feel normal again. The stores had pried wet wood from windows and piled sandbags in sheds instead of at the edges of doors. Hope had been careful and calculated when it came to every visit to the beach after that.

She couldn’t deny the pull it had on her. She had gotten a new board and fished deep in her junk drawer until she found the spare key to the jeep. The beaches were full again and the waves towered enough to get some good days in- and still, Hope couldn’t bring herself to step foot through the doors of the small novelty shop.

She struggled to peel the wet suit from her skin, releasing the top zipper as her bare feet burned against the asphalt. She ignored the wandering stares around her, and the cooks behind the nearest restaurant as they puffed in smoke before slowly letting it fill the air.

Hope moved the rest of the wetsuit down and threw it in her trunk, feeling the stifling summer air against her mostly bare skin. She started to dig helplessly through her backseat in search of a large t-shirt or even a pair of pants.

“I can’t say I’m not enjoying the view.”

She straightened out, a flash of anger moving through her. Hope dug her nails into her palm and turned to face the culprit “Would you still enjoy the view if I- oh,”

Lizzie had a smug smile on her face, and Hope cursed herself for feeling that familiar rush of heat. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re not rethinking our deal, are you?”

“No, of course not, I’ve just been a little tied up is all.” Hope spoke too fast for her own good and Lizzie was quick to take notice, but nice enough not to say anything in the first place. She knew her cheeks were a soft pink but chalked it up to the sun that beat against them.

The blonde leaned forward, she smelled like sunscreen “How’s your head?”

“It’s fine.” Hope lifted an eyebrow cautiously “Oh, um, I mean- it still kind of hurts. Maybe you could get a better look at it… in my car.”

Lizzie schooled her stance and her smile twinkled as if she was just given an invitation for a massive masquerade ball complete with freshly clipped roses and fancy platters of food. Not the backseat of a used Jeep that had a healthy coating of sand on the floor.

Hope opened the door further, like a real gentleman and watched carefully as Lizzie climbed in before doing the same herself. And she hadn’t really thought this all the way through- because the riskiest place she had ever had sex was a few weeks back in the middle of a category five.

Now they were in the back corner of a parking lot that was surrounded by a weather-washed fence and the backs of a few shops. She suddenly felt like she was exposing more than Lizzie was- still in her work uniform of jean shorts and a t-shirt while Hope sported a black bikini, showing the full expanse of her stomach, arms, and legs. Lizzie traced every inch while Hope leaned forward and locked the doors.

“Your car is nice,” Lizzie managed

“It’s a piece of junk, but thank you for trying.”

“Come here.”

Hope allowed herself to be guided to Lizzie’s side of the car by the top strap of her suit. It hadn’t been hard enough to unloop it, but she was effectively in Lizzie’s lap, a tongue running over the roof of her mouth in a matter of seconds. She wasn’t sure which one of them moaned first, but it lit a fire deep that ran deep against her skin as Lizzie’s hands wandered.

Hope bit down softly on Lizzie’s lower lip before running her tongue over it and moving her touch to Lizzie’s jaw. “I’m in charge this time,” She spoke in a low snarl.

“And what makes you figure that?”

She moved to Lizzie’s pulse point, feeling it quicken under her lips “My shitty car, my rules.”

Hope didn’t’ hear a further objection, just a small whimper of pleasure as she looped her fingers around the bottom of Lizzie’s shirt and pulled it over her head. Hope hadn’t been one to take control before- the nerves of starting a relationship, or lack thereof, like this was teeming at the back of her mind. But not when Lizzie was under her like this. Exposed.

She unhooked the latch of her bra, throwing the flimsy fabric into the backseat with her wetsuit. Hope could feel her own heart rate rise as she got a good look at Lizzie; the way her skin seemed soft, breasts flawless in the early evening lights. She knew in that moment that she wanted to watch Lizzie unravel completely. She wanted to be the cause of it.

Hope kissed softly down Lizzie’s chest, nipping tenderly, her stomach heaving up and down with hot breath. “Stop teasing.” She hummed through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the leather seats.

The button to Lizzie’s pants were easily undone, and she eagerly lifted from the seat long enough for Hope to slide the shorts down to her ankles before they were discarded entirely among the sandy floors. Hope lowered herself, even more, running her nails against Lizzie’s sides.

“You know,” She spoke against Lizzie’s thigh, biting down soft enough to elicit a moan of pleasure, “I thought this idea of yours was pretty crazy.”

“Uh huh,”

Lizzie wasn’t listening, and Hope knew that. She was trying to scoot down the seat to bring Hope’s mouth closer. But the shorter girl had a good hold on each of her legs, moving just a bit closer to her sex.

“It’s starting to grow on me a little bit.” Hope ran her tongue over the little bite mark she had left on the inside of Lizzie’s thigh “Unless my priorities are all out of wack.”

“Hope, don’t take this the wrong way.” Lizzie moved her hand from the seat to the girl's chin, pulling her gaze up until blue met a deeper hue of cobalt. “I don’t care about your priorities unless one of them is screaming at you to get on with it, and fuck me.”

She blew out a puff of air and smiled “Message received.”

Hope returned back to her task, pushing Lizzie’s legs further apart before shifting the strip of wet fabric to the side. She breathed in the scent of lavender before running her tongue over Lizzie’s slit, just barely tasting her. The girl writhed beneath her and let out a shuddered breath at the quick contact.

She had reveled in the fact that Lizzie hated to be teased, ghosting her lips over her clit, hot and heavy. Hope knew what she was doing, knew how to trace little patterns, and suck with just the right amount of pressure until Lizzie shook under her touch. She dug her hand into Auburn locks.

“Keep going,” Lizzie husked, clenching her eyes shut to avoid staring at the fuzzy gray ceiling.

Hope followed the command, changing her pace as she ran her tongue over the small bundle of nerves in a steady rhythm until she felt Lizzie’s body fall rigid. Her own hair being pulled as Lizzie bit down hard enough on her bottom lip to draw blood, to keep from screaming loud enough to catch the attention of anyone who happened to be in the parking lot.

Her chest heaved, her mouth dry as Hope pulled away and moved her thumb against the corner of her lip, a satisfied grin on her face. Lizzie was coated in an even sheen of sweat, her fingers grasping at her t-shirt. She pulled it over her head, finally catching her bearings.

“I might like you better when you’re not talking.” She sniffed, sitting up as she reached for her shorts.

“Thank you, I think?” Hope pushed herself onto the back seat, moving her hands against her knees to brush off the rest of the sand. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one. But maybe next time, can we do this somewhere that isn’t your car?” Lizzie moved an old energy drink can from where her back had been resting. “Not that this isn’t great, or anything.”

Hope scoffed and pulled that random shirt that she finally found over her head. Her skin was hot and the sand was scratching close to her skin. But it was better than the sudden blush that bloomed against her skin.

She smiled. “Message received.”


	14. The Vampire's Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope Offers Lizzie a deal that she's in no position to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, so this isn't actually anything new. This was the first Hizzie fanfic that I ever wrote (And it's up on Wattpad, because you know, trial run) but I only ended up writing one chapter and figured that I would post it here too because it is something I'm interested in exploring later. Let me know your thoughts!

**Hope Mikaelson took** three even gulps of the shop's air and tasted magic. Old magic that burned the back of her throat and nipped at her lungs until she felt like they were on fire. The odd odor of rosemary and chamomile clung to her clothes. The herbs were stacked in even and dusty jars against the far-right shelves like candles in a store. They had no lids, and separately everything was harmless. But she feared what could be created when combined.

She listened as the bell chimed with her entrance to the small business at the edge of the French Quarter. It was narrow and long instead of large and wide, posters for an upcoming circus littered the walls and a few sheets of paper advertising summer babysitting had the bottoms crudely ripped off, number smeared in black ink.

When she was younger, Hope used to enjoy taking trips to magic shops with her Aunt Freya, the jazz scene in New Orleans had just sparked a flame and different melodies, melancholy and otherwise, flowed through the city like air. They would find herbs and boil them up and fix things that had been broken for a long time. 

That strength was felt the moment she walked through the door of Conrad Drew’s, Jade at her heels dutifully. There was soft gold light and the building shielded them from the sounds of the city, the bustle of parties, and iron wheels of cars.

Drew was an old man now, still holding himself correct behind the glass-paned counter with his fingers leaving little smudges. His hair was graying and his body fell rigid with fear when he glanced up, smile fading. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.” Was all he said.

“Don’t worry, we won’t stay long,” Hope responded, walking across the wood floor until she reached the desk. “I just have a few questions.”

“Take them somewhere else, plenty of magic shops in town.” 

Conrad Drew was a resolute man, once young and vibrant and strong in his words. He had held the shop under his thumb for the better part of a decade, before that, it was his fathers, and his before that. Hope met him when he was twenty, simple, and able to down liquor as if it were pure water. He had aged, and so had she.

“Oh come on, I thought we were friends.” Hope cooed, letting the glass cool her fingertips. The heat left small crescents close to the service. They dissolved as quickly as they appeared. “Besides, it isn’t up for much discussion.”

He clenched his teeth and thinned his expression into a tight one. His leathery skin was glossy under the low light of the magic shop and his lungs growled like a lion pacing it’s iron cage, shoes kicking around sour hay.

Jade picked up the nearest book, dust pulling from the pages. “Don’t touch that. What do you want?”

Though the words were directed towards the curious vampire, he never moved his ghostly stare from Hope. Her fingers twitched and he noticed entirely all too quickly. Hope Mikaelson had a temper like stained glass, just like her father. Intricate and beautiful but shatter prone.

“There’s been an unusual spike in magic lately. It’s buzzing around us even as we speak, Mr. Drew, I can feel it.” She was soft with her words but still moved her fingertips against her bare arms until they left little white lines from the pressure. “You can too.”

“It’s a magical city, girl. Of course, you can feel it.”

“This is different. This is darker- an uprising of sorts. And I want to trust that I’m not foolish enough for believing in the loyalty of your witches.” Hope leaned forward and the scent of old magic was replaced with cheap cologne and sweat, primal fear that Conrad Drew didn’t show well. “Am I foolish?”

The French Quarter witches had been rooted in New Orleans for centuries before they branched out into different covens. Hope had an unmovable fist around the throat of each of them- and that stemmed from the control of the company Conrad liked to keep. The ninth ward kept to themselves, kept their magic in check.

“If there’s strange magic it’s not from us. We’re not naive enough to practice right where your castle stands.”

Hope couldn’t’ tell if that eased her worry at all, or the strange electric feeling that danced across her skin in a dangerous tango. But she believed him, even in his annoyance and bubbling anger at her for crossing the boundaries they had drawn a long time ago.

He let out a sigh and pulled a yellowed jar from the shelf behind him, Hope couldn’t read the label, mottled with age. “You should try the Garden District.”

“The Garden District?” Jade had long ago abandoned her book, “Those hippie freaks don’t have it in them. Don’t they worship their regent like a God?”

“They’re unconventional, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can discount them.” He said.

Jade shrugged her shoulders dejectedly and wandered over to the far wall. She squinted at the contents in the mason jars, careful to shove her fingers in her pockets like she was in an art museum, gazing at pictures expertly painted, gold plaques carved with the words _DON’T TOUCH._

Hope had no such worry about the witches that dressed in white to get closer to the pure source of magic. They had been holed up in a large house on the west side of town since she herself was a child; her father let them be, let them simmer, and practice what they wanted with the respect and patience of a noble man. So she had done the same.

“Was that all, Miss Mikaelson?”

It had been. The early evening was bleeding into a desolate night filled with the sound of crickets and the wet summer air that made her want to peel her own skin off. An expertly crafted wooden sign indicated that the magic shop was closing its own doors and Hope was never one to linger after hours when a place lacked good liquor.

The door with the little bell and the burgundy paint flung open with enough force to crack the double-plated glass that protected it. Jade drew in a sharp breath and Hope felt the defensive bit of energy strike against her fingertips akin to a match.

A girl crashed to her knees and winced as they stung tearing against the aged wood. She was drenched in the pungent smell of sweat mixed with swamp water and mud, it left an even ring against the midsection of a pure white dress, something that had once been spotless but was now torn with the scent of blood and moss.

Hope exhaled because she decided that it was better than the opposite, perfectly content with the heir of magic instead of muck. This girl was captivating and a near stranger. Her blonde hair was stained similarly with mud and tears streaked down her cheeks. Eyes so pale they were almost gray. Mud darkened behind her nails and blood soaked close to her collar, not from a bite, but a tear, a simple slice in her skin that looked all too intentional.

Conrad moved across the shop wordlessly and flipped the large iron lock against the door “What in God’s name-“ 

“I need help,” She girl gulped out, her voice was broken, pained from screaming. “There are people after me and I didn’t know where else to go.”

“A hospital?” Jade suggested, blinking at the scene.

“No, no I couldn’t. That can’t help me not against them.”

Hope hesitated “Who did this to you?”

The girl’s breath slowed, no longer a jagged pant but something loose and unstable. She hugged herself close, still sitting against the floor and dripping mud that would be nearly impossible to scrub away. “I took something important from a group of witches. It was for the greater good, I swear it, but they don’t’ see it like that. They have a tracking spell on me and I figured— fuck if anyone was strong enough to counter it with a cloaking spell it would be”

“Me,” Conrad finished the sentence. “Whatever it is, I’ll need more power than I have. It was half-witted to show up here. One man can’t take down an entire coven.”

“What about yours?” She searched desperately.

“They’re indisposed. You can’t hide here, girl. I’m sorry, it’s not my fight.”

Hope rolled her eyes, staring the sad excuse for a regent down. He liked to protect his people, and the tribrid could admit to her own motives as well. But watching the girl, so small and unsure of herself, it pulled at her. Pulled at her the same way that it did with Jade in the 1800s and countless others that shared her disposition. She blamed her mother for her soft side.

“Have some pity, Drew. Where would the world be if we didn’t take mercy on anyone?”

“A hell of a lot safer, your daddy knew that.”

She ignored the comment and the mention of her father. Flames licked at her skin, and an acid taste pressed against the back of her throat but she swallowed it down, kneeling in front of the scared witch, so pulled into herself that she barely noticed another presence until now. Her beaten stare flashed in recognition, and fear, and something else entirely that Hope couldn’t read.

She whispered, soft “Now, I think you and I can make a deal.”

“I’ve heard stories about you.” The stranger swallowed the dirty taste on her tongue “I think I’d rather risk my luck in the quarter. I don’t need _your_ protection.”

Hope gave a wolfish grin, fighting back a bitter laugh. Even now, even crouched low coated in every kind of grime that the Louisiana swamps had to offer, she refused her. It made an odd bout of pride swell in Hope’s chest because the stories had lived on and so had her presence in this town seeping with the history of her family.

“You took something from a bloodletting frenzy of homicidal witches. Like hell, you need my protection.”

The girl gulped in the same air that Hope had when she first entered the small shop. She stared at her supposed savior, at Conrad Drew, and a stranger leaning close enough to the shelves to clear them entirely. She felt the hot floor against her knees and tasted the waters of the swamp she had waded through, and though it was slight, she could pick up on the magic of a woman entirely too patient to compete with the fairytales.

She conceded “What kind of deal?”


	15. Stormy Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hope is afraid of thunderstorms and Lizzie comforts her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I am for sure listening to you guys and a full-length fic for "Vampires Familiar" is going to be posted soon, so be on the lookout!

**When Lizzie was** little, she was afraid of thunderstorms. They had always seemed so much bigger than her. Each one taut with rolling clouds of purple and slate gray, filling the sky until the air around her felt green and positively charged with electricity. Josie would sit outside with their father, curled in his lap as the two of them watched the water fall in sheets, collecting against the awning of the back porch.

Lizzie would pull the comforter from her bed and hide in the darkest corner of her closet with the blanket pulled over her head. She could hear her heartbeat, but never over the thunder, and smell the sourness of her breath. She pinned her hands over her ears and struggled to count to ward off the demons that growled just past a thin sheet of glass.

One summer, when it would rain every single night, Caroline joined her.

She didn’t say anything at first; instead, she sat cross-legged next to her on the closet floor. It was a ploy, and Lizzie knew that because but still, she lifted the blanket slowly and blinked in the darkness at her mother, who blinked right back. 

Then another crack of thunder shook the house and Lizzie squeaked before burying her tear-streaked head into Caroline’s embrace. She thought it would be better to hear someone else’s heartbeat rather than her own damning one.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Caroline said as she smoothed her touch over her daughters back “Did you hear that?"

Lizzie pulled back and blinked at her like she had lost her entire mind. Of course, she had heard it. The entire town had heard it. More than that, she felt it. The ground shook and the light that had just filled the sky quickly followed with an earthshattering tumble.

Caroline chuckled, and the sound was soft, angelic “Okay, point taken… I mean, do you know what that is?”

Lizzie didn’t answer. She knew what the rain felt like, had tasted it and reminisced in the sting that it pressured close to her skin. Her ear was pressed flush against her mother’s chest and her fingers nervously played with the charm at the end of her necklace.

“Up past those big clouds, there’s a bowling alley.”

“A bowling alley?” Lizzie’s voice was that of a mouse, broken and frayed.

“Oh yeah, a really big one too, it has a thousand lanes and every size shoe you can ever imagine. It has the best and greasiest pizza and the fries-“Caroline paused to lament “the fries are the best thing in this entire universe.”

Lizzie pulled away with a puzzled look on her face, fingers still gripping the fabric of her blouse. There was no way she would believe that an entire bowling alley was nestled in the dark and looming clouds. And even if she did (which she didn’t’) how would her mother know so much about it?

“Angels from all over the world go there to bowl.” She continued just as the rain picked up, the wind hissing with the raging storm “That thunder? That’s just the angels getting a perfect score.”

She frowned at her mother and thought about the way that each loud and rumbling burst of sound was the equivalent to ten ivory pins falling to a glossy floor. Everyone would clap and an obnoxious animation would flash across the screen.

Another hiss of thunder rolled through the house then- and Lizzie was so focused on the score of the roll, that it didn’t scare her as much. The wind still whistled and the lights would flicker, but nothing about it was as detrimental as it had been only a few moments ago.

Caroline pulled her close and Lizzie breathed in the even scent of lavender and rainwater, and everything was going to be fine, she decided, even if the world was clouded in gray.

Lizzie didn’t’ hate storms anymore, but she didn’t’ actively go out of her way to get caught in the middle of one. Not until her junior year at the Salvatore school, when a hurricane grew at the edges of the coast and the lights buzzed with the tooling energy in the air.

The wind howled like a rapid animal and the power had flashed away entirely a few minutes ago. She had signed and fished for a candle in the side drawer before lighting it and returning to her book as the large oak trees scraped close to the windows. Entirely too invested in the woven tale of a court case in the Deep South. She didn’t want to admit that she had gone far past the required reading for her English class, but she had.

She had grown used to the creaking of the old Salvatore school, and even more so, it’s sounds during a storm like this. The structure would groan like a chain-ridden spirit searching for its next victim. And even she could admit that it made her hair stand on edge.

Her unripe eyes flicked towards the door to the room. Lizzie hadn’t heard the slight knock over the hissing wind. But she did see it slowly open and reveal a mousy looking Hope, wrapped in one of the throws from the leather sofas in the study. She had her own copy of the book clenched against her chest- and she was oh so drawn into herself.

Lizzie sat forward from her bed frame. Hope Mikaelson coming in here like this was rich. Her father was right down the hall and MG was on the floor below them. She looked none too happy about her choice either but still didn’t move. “Hi,”

“Hi?” Lizzie frowned “What are you doing here?”

But she knew the answer already; because Hope had the same exact expression on her pale features that Lizzie used to get right before she grabbed the closest stuffed animal and did a swan dive into her closet. _Hope Mikaelson was afraid of storms._

Lightning illuminated the room, casting a lattice of white against the floor and a nice rug that Lizzie had picked up in Richmond. Hope flinched but schooled her expression once the thunder had passed.

“I thought that we could talk about the book…to get a better understanding of it. But we don’t have to.” She hesitated for a moment and took a step back.

“Wait. Come in and close the door, we can talk about it.”

Hope struggled to hide her relief and gave off a curt nod instead before doing as she was told. She stood at the bottom of Lizzie’s bed for a moment and then sat on the corner with her fingers running over the spine. She had gotten an older copy wrapped in leather from the school's large library.

Her fingers clenched the blanket as another round of thunder shook the ground, a train that had fallen from its tracks. Lizzie could swear that her eyes flashed a deep gold, if only for a moment before she swallowed thickly and opened the book to a random page.

“So, your opinions on Scout?”

Hope’s fingers left little sweat marks against the edges of the paper and Lizzie closed her own book before setting it next to the candle on the nightstand. It had been straining her eyes to keep going- and now she had a necessary distraction on her hands.

“Hope, are you afraid of storms?” She approached the situation with delicacy.

“What? No. God, No. They’re natural things, right?” She scoffed but grimaced shortly after. “It’s kind of loud, is all. And then the power went out.”

Lizzie watched the way that Hope struggled to hide her the way she shook by shoving her fingers under the blanket she had brought in with her, and it tore at Lizzie. She had never seen the other girl in a state this close to breakdown before.

She scooted closer to the nightstand and peeled back the covers, Hope looked at her expectantly before Lizzie lifted her eyebrows in invitation. It didn’t take much more than another flash of lightening for her to spring forward and climb into the warmth that the Gemini twin had to offer.

Hope smelled like fresh vanilla and the fire that she had been curled up next to until the power decided to pull away. The old book sat in her lap but she didn’t’ seem to shake as much with Lizzie’s shoulder pressed close to hers.

“It used to rain a lot in New Orleans,” Hope said, her voice a small whisper, “And my father… he liked the way it filled the atrium, how it felt like our own personal world while the city around us crumbled and the blood filled the drains as it washed away from the streets. My family was the cause of most of it, and I always liked the fresh feeling after a storm. But then they would work hard to paint the town red again, so it didn’t matter so much.”

Lizzie found herself taking Hope’s hand in hers. She squeezed it and tried to quell the way that it trembled. “I used to be afraid of them too, you know? But one day, my mom sat with me and told me that it was just angels in the sky.”

“Angels?” Hope’s voice was that of a mouse, broken and frayed.

“Oh yeah, they’re bowling too. So all that rain you hear, it’s clapping and the thunder, the thunder is every single pin being knocked down.”

Hope’s expression was pensive for a moment before her fingers tightened around Lizzie’s as another rumble rocked the sky. But it loosened soon after and her breath evened out. “Yeah, okay. A bowling alley.” 

Lizzie nodded with a triumphant smile and picked the book from the nightstand back up before turning to the page she had dog-eared. Hope kept her fingers intertwined with Lizzie’s and slowly lowered her head onto the girl's shoulder, both of them reading the typed paragraphs in the dull light of a candle, and the waning bolts of lightning.


	16. Mrs & Mrs Mikaelson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ever seen Mr. & Mrs smith? Because... Hizzie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot that this movie existed, but as soon as I got this prompt I remembered how much I loved it! Anyway, on a more serious note (I don't get political often) But please please please get out there and do your part. Sign petitions, donate if you can. Support the black community and whatever you do, don't stay silent.

**Lizzie watched carefully** as the silver-edged blade slowly pushed through the outer casing of the casserole dish. It’s once clean color was muddied with a deep red that dripped with the scent of garlic. Hope’s movements were fluid and her focus was strong. She had evenly sliced through the fried top of the cheese and maneuvered until the lasagna was placed in a perfect square in the center of a plate.

“Salad?” She asked, placing the knife on the corner of the dish, not carving out a serving of her own. Instead, her fingers reached for the clear bowl. She didn’t wait for Lizzie to answer, instead, she loaded up the dark green vegetables doused in oil.

She slid the plate towards Lizzie “Thank you. You’re not going to eat any?”

“Maybe later,” Hope flopped down into the seat at the other end of the table. She untied the apron around her waist and let it sit in a pile under her fingertips. Her other hand reached for the lipstick-stained wine glass, she spoke into it. “I’ve been in that hot kitchen all day, I don’t feel much like eating.”

Lizzie was inclined to believe her wife. Her loving and doting wife who could have been with the kids all day, or in the kitchen like she claimed; slaving over lasagna and homemade bread, even when Lizzie insisted on picking up take-out on the way back from the office. But even then, both of them knew it was a lie.

She picked up her fork, her fingers still aching with the feeling of a gun. Her whole entire body felt like it was on fire and sunburn danced under her cheeks. It reminded her of being a kid and spending the entire day by the side of the pool, only to collapse on her bed in front of a fan while the chlorine created a film against her skin. 

In retrospect, Lizzie should have worn sunscreen, but the weather was overcast and she didn’t think she would be perched on the roof for long. Her target was easy; a businessman who had crossed too many paths with his dirty derby shoes. It was a simple enough hit.

Blaine Ewing ate at the same café every single day, at the same table facing the street, under the same umbrella. He would order a chicken Cesar salad and pick out all the onions instead of asking for the meal without any. Lizzie had learned his schedule and she had lined up the scope of the gun perfectly.

An easy target, and an even easier 50,000 from her employer.

Lizzie hadn’t seen the girl walking towards Blaine, not right away, not until she had blocked the view from the scope and she had to pull away to get a better look. Even from her spot on the roof across the street- Lizzie knew.

She recognized that body, and that hair tucked carefully under the guise of a black hoodie. Lizzie had stood across the alter from that woman, she had sat through hours of IVF and the hours of PTA meetings. The same woman who skillfully shoved a knife into Blaine Ewing’s chest in just the right spot that ensured she wouldn’t’ have to do it twice.

Hope was an assassin, and quite frankly, Lizzie was shocked. She had realized after loading up her sniper and sitting in an empty parking garage, that she had lost out of a pricey hit because her wife had gotten there first.

Which begged the question; did Hope know she was one too?

She had cut into the corner of the lasagna, loading up her fork, but not raising it to her lips. They had been married for years now, seven to be exact, and though she still loved her wife dearly, she had no idea if Hope was faking that too. “You’re sure you’re not hungry?”

“No,” Hope frowned, setting down the wine glass. “You’re acting weird, sweetie, is everything okay?”

Lizzie set the fork down and pretended not to notice the flicker of disappointment in Hope’s eyes “Everything is fantastic. I’ve just been thinking, we should go out of town for a bit. Spend some quality time together. Without the kids.”

Hope blinked a few times at the suggestion and Lizzie stood from her seat at the end of the table before walking the length of the dining room. She had already abandoned the thought of the meal, and the possible drain cleaner that had been mixed into the sauce. Instead, she traced her fingers against the edge of Hope’s jaw and lifted her leg over the girl's lap until she was straddling her, looping her fingers against the top stitching of her jeans.

Distract her with sex- that can buy a full night in the house until Hope decided to grab a pillow and put her out of her misery.

“Mm, that sounds like a fine idea.” Hope hummed as she pressed her lips against Lizzies, nipping softly at her before running her tongue against the spot to soothe the sting, “But what about work?”

“The office can get by for a day without me,” Lizzie responded. “And Josie can watch the kids”

Hope bit at Lizzie’s jaw, straightening in her seat as she trailed kisses against Lizzie’s pulse point. “I wasn’t talking about your job, I was talking about mine.”

She hesitated for just a moment, but it was a moment too long. With her wife’s touch right against her pulse, she felt her heart rate spike and Lizzie stiffen, and before she could register what was happening- Hope threw her entire weight against the base of the chair and tipped it back.

Lizzie felt her shoulder hit the wood floor first and then her legs against the drywall. It had taken both of them down but Hope knew exactly what she was doing, just as Lizzie thought she did. There was an ache at the base of her skull and she slid down the wall until she was on her side, disoriented from being flipped upside down. Hope had already gained her composure and her standing position. 

“Okay, _ouch,_ ” Lizzie said in a muted growl.

It was outshined by the dull click of a gun, and suddenly she didn’t’ care that she could still feel Hope’s touch, hot against her skin, or taste metallic blood from where her teeth had dug into the side of her mouth. Her wife had a handgun pointed at her, and a confused stare on her features.

The room was suddenly feverish and Lizzie wished she could take back knowing the truth, and maybe even her vows, for just a moment- but this was hotter than she cared to admit and she had never been more attracted to her wife than now.

“You ruined my hit this morning.”

“It was my hit too, and something tells me that my employers pay more than yours do.” Hope lowered the gun for a split second before refocusing “You hesitated.”

“Darling, I never hesitate.” Lizzie pulled herself to a standing position, all the while being followed by the green eye of a weapon. She pressed her finger against the split in her lip, staring down at the darkened mud color on her fingers. “So what then, did they ask you to take me out as well?”

Hope scowled once more. “I was directed to get rid of the competition, yes. I just didn’t know it was _you_ until today.”

Lizzie smiled, and it was mostly in vain, but somewhat in pride. She could still taste the blood against her teeth and even now, part of her was annoyed that Hope had destroyed the kitchen chair because it was a wedding gift from her mother. But her wife had called out her hesitation, all while doing the exact thing she was pointing towards.

Hope was stalling.

“How much are they offering you? Because honestly, if it’s at least half a Mil, I would go for it. You can get a good house in California for you and the kids, make it all look like a horrible accident. People would believe you if you cried enough.”

She took a step forward and Hope tensed, the tip of the gun was against her shoulder now, and it was cold. She easily guided her until it was right against the top of her rips. One slight twitch of the finger and Lizzie would drop. Granted, this felt like a better way to go then the slow poison mixed into an Italian dish.

Hope let out a shaky breath and clenched her eyes shut before pulling the trigger.

She was met with a slight click- but no powerful bang, no overwhelming cold, no flash of light. Just the small noise and a scoff from the woman in front of her. “Oh my god, you were actually going to do it!”

Hope let out a small huff before pulling the weapon back and removing the base of the weapon with bewilderment before flicking her darkened eyes back up to her wife. Who had a half-smile, mostly breed from entitlement, against her lips.

“Looking for this?” Lizzie pulled the full clip from her back pocket, the silver bullet casings catching the light above the kitchen table. She had swiped them, her tongue down Hope’s throat long enough for her not to notice the edging against her back pockets. “Honestly, darling I know our sex life has been lacking lately but bringing guns into it is never the answer.”

She snorted and set the gun down on the table. “I totally felt you grab those.”

“Mm-hmm, yeah.” Lizzie nodded and grasped her phone from her side of the table, Hope crossed her arms dejectedly across her chest. “I’m going to order pizza if you want to clean up the chair that you absolutely destroyed before the kids get home.”

She hesitated and watched as Lizzie walked from the room and flipped on the kitchen light. “Don’t put pineapple on it,”

“what are you going to do?" She shouted from the other room "Murder me?" 


	17. Miss Saltzman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ever heard of the song Mrs Jackson can you make that into hizzie! Love you work in the hizzie oneshot series like seriously I live to read those oneshot's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! and Honestly, don't ask me why I took it in this direction, but it was the only thing I could imagine while listening to this song. I hope everyone is staying safe, and also hydrated!

**Hope Mikaelson felt** the cool edge of drywall push up against the wet of her back. Her legs ached, the apron digging into her stomach as she sat in the small corner of the business office. Different sticky notes in foreign writing littered the walls and a small fan hummed in the corner- but all it did was circulate hot air.

“This has officially been the worst day of my life.” She mumbled into her hands, tasting the salt of sweat against her lips.

The hotel was in the middle of its busiest season; with graduations and regular vacations to the large amusement park that sat thirty minutes from the coast. Every single room had been booked up to capacity and more than half of them called down to the kitchen with ridiculous requests that could be fulfilled with one easy trip to the grocery store.

Penelope worked an easy hand through her sweat-dampened hair. “You’re telling me. Room fifty-four keeps calling down for fresh strawberries because she saw another room with them, and you know Rick is too cheap for shit like that.”

“Rick is too cheap for everything.” Hope moved her hands and put her head against the wall behind her, letting the cool air hit her neck.

Ebony Creek sat at the end of a long city block packed with bakeries wafting with sweetness. There was a bookstore and a small local grocer. All of it was overshadowed by the large sandstone building with emerald awnings and fresh-cut roses.

The kitchen was located towards the back of the hotel, facing an alleyway where her coworkers would pull in heated breaths of nicotine. There was a cool breeze seeping in through the office, the door propped with a plastic bucket once used for large quantities of ice.

Three monotone rings echoed through the small space and Hope had to fight off a groan. Penelope sighed and grasped the phone from the hook. She listened silently for a moment, nodding as if the person on the other line could see her. “Yes ma’am, I’ll send her right up.”

There was a beat of silence after Penelope put the phone noisily back on the hook.

“Hope,”

“No”

“It’s room 237.”

Her breath caught, and it felt like lead in her throat. Hope had grown dreadful of the calls, and that very floor; but the guests there had a permanent stay in Ebony Creek. They paid a good sum of money to have keypads on the doors from the stairwell, to have a personal elevator that brought them to the fanciest rooms that were more like apartments. They rented month to month, and most of them nodded politely at the staff but never made use of them.

 _Most_ of them weren’t Elizabeth Saltzman.

She was a modern heiress with extreme taste when it came to extravagance. She enjoyed the post-modern art that hung on the walls of her hallway and deep gold crown moldings at the corners of her rented room.

Lizzie barely ordered anything from the kitchen; but with each phone call, she would request Hope. And each time Hope fixed her a vodka soda with barely any seltzer and bring that with her on a metal tray. Her hands would shake and the ice would clatter.

“Can’t refuse that,” Hope sounded out eventually, rubbing the sweat from her collarbone.

“No, I suppose not. Don’t take too long, alright? We can’t afford to be without you.”

Hope pulled herself to a standing position, not paying much mind to how her legs burned, or the good amount of wetness that built up behind her neck. She quietly mixed Lizzie her drink and pretended not to notice the cooks staring at her with curious eyes- despite knowing the weekly ritual by heart.

Hope set the crystal glass on a tray and walked through the double doors into the shocking coolness of the hallway. She could smell the chlorine of the indoor pool and hear the hum of the vending machines that were marked up in price when all you truly got in return were stale chips and out of date chocolate.

She got into the elevator that leads only to the second floor and found herself pulling out her hairpins with her free hand. The sweat had dried and her palm shook under the metal tray, the ice sounding like fairies that were robbed of their gold dust. All of this, she ignored too- all the way to room 237.

Hope schooled her shoulders, knocked three times (loud and sure of herself) before losing that nerve and stepping back like a timid child delivering cookies, or passing out pamphlets about the church of Christ.

Lizzie took her time answering the door, but when she did, Hope could swear she had to swallow her heart because the heiress would be able to hear her in a moment. She was dressed modestly in a nice blouse that cut too low and a pair of gray slacks. Hope knew from experience that the matching blazer would be slung against the back of one of the chairs in the room.

It was a rare occasion to see the woman smile, but each time the corner of her lip turned into something of a smirk, Hope’s legs would lose their feeling and her mind would run faster than any living creature could.

“Miss Saltzman, here’s your drink.” Hope balanced the tray and Lizzie took the glass as if it were a formality, and neither of them could fool one another, it was. “Is there anything else I can get you?” 

“You can come inside, let me grab a tip from my purse.”

The first time, nearly two summers ago, that Elizabeth Saltzman asked Hope to follow her into her room, she hesitated. The year before that she had delivered pizza’s and the golden rule was to always stay on the porch unless you wanted a knife in your back or a healthy dose of hoarders syndrome.

But it was a classy hotel, and there were cameras in nearly every hallway. Penelope had told her to always make sure the guest had everything they wanted; and if someone as powerful as Lizzie asked her to wait in the little area by the door in order to collect a tip, she would.

Hope tucked the metal tray under her arm and obliged.

Lizzie had the AC on and that seemed to do nothing to appease the intense burning across the skin of her cheeks. She felt the exhaustion of the day and the cool metal that pressed close to her side. More than anything, she felt the closed door against the skin of her back the second that they were locked away from the rest of the world.

A knee was between hers and the tray clattered to the carpet with a dull thud. Lizzie’s nails dug trails of acid across the back of her neck and their lips met with all exhaustion forgotten. Lizzie tasted like mint and bourbon.

“I had a rough day,” Hope said as the woman nipped slightly at her jawline, and then a little further down. “So if you can go a little easy on me-“

“I can have whoever wronged you fired on the spot.”

Hope scoffed; Lizzie wasn’t one for affection, not the ordinary kind and after a while, Hope realized that. She had fought hard to carve out a place in the city for herself and her brand. People found her brash and power-hungry, but her words were always calculated and both of them knew that it was a sign of how much she cared.

She found herself consumed by the woman in every aspect. How soft her movements were, how much she smelled of fresh-cut flowers, how she had just enough arousal built up inside of her to get her through the rest of her shift.

Lizzie led her to the small sofa that was a deep crimson and shuttered gold. She lifted Hope’s shirt above her head and took with it the scent of a kitchen, of freshly peeled garlic and sink water. She was being straddled and the coolness of the couch mingled with the heat of her skin.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Lizzie growled, soft like the purr of a motor, before unhooking Hope’s bra and throwing it to the corner of the room with her t-shirt. “It’s a shame that you’re trapped in that hot kitchen all day long. Aren’t you just begging for some kind of release?”

Hope was, in fact, close to biting her tongue to keep herself from whimpering requests. She writhed under Lizzie’s touch and let out a small gasp when the woman ran her tongue over her nipple delicately. She liked to tease, and part of Hope didn’t have the patience but knew never to rush her. 

Lizzie palmed Hope’s other breast and kissed lightly down her stomach until she reached the waistband of her pants. Each movement felt like a new form of lava as energy pulsed through her. She lifted her legs, allowing the girl to pull her jeans down to her knees, taking her underwear with it.

Lizzie was attentive and tender, biting ever so slightly at Hope’s thighs as a wetness slowly formed between them. She moaned at the sensation, at the anticipation that overwhelmed her in every sense of nature.

“For fuck's sake,” She mumbled, biting down on the edge of her arm. The walls were the only expense that Ebony Creek didn’t double down on. They were thin and every single staff member took bets on which room was seeing the most action- Hope always knew it was 237.

“What was that?”

Lizzie’s breath was scalding against her center, and Hope wanted nothing more than to push herself further down the couch for any type of contact. “Please, Miss. Saltzman.”

Her southern manners were something prided in food service, and the same expectation carried to encounters like this. They weren’t on a first-name basis. Hope was the help even though sometimes it felt like the other way around, depending on who did the pleasuring.

Even with her quickness, Lizzie was gentle. She moved her tongue against the length of Hope’s sex, soothing the innate energy, if only for a moment before she got to work. Hope found her nails digging into the red fabric, leaving little crescents in the cushions. Her other hand guided Lizzie evenly, fingers laced into blonde hair.

“Holy shit,” Hope purred, waves of satisfaction rippling through her as Lizzie latched onto her clit.

She suddenly forgot all about the stress in the kitchen; the way seven meals had been sent back, and how room fifty-four wanted fresh strawberries that still needed to be defrosted from the furthest reaches of the freezer. The only thing that mattered was the skill of Lizzie’s tongue and the vodka soda that chilled on the table by the door.

Hope suddenly tensed, that build-up of pressure inside of her was releasing. She felt the tremors move through her body and bit down on the side of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Despite herself, she was successful in muffling the sounds of her own satisfaction.

Lizzie pulled away, clearly impressed with herself. A dumb and prideful smile sparkled against her lips, even as they met with Hope’s once more. Her palm was on Hopes collarbone, both of them could feel the strength of her heartbeat as it pounded close to her ribcage.

Hope could taste herself, masked with vanilla, on Lizzie’s lips.

“You always tip me the most,” Hope panted

“You work hard.” Lizzie frowned and then focused her stare back on Hope’s, those deep indigo eyes. “You deserve it.”


	18. Stop Leaving Me Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lizzie keeps visiting Hope long after a major event.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, this is a sad one, apologies in advance. But let me know what you think!

**The evening air** held an unseasonable chill that made Lizzie wish she had brought a jacket like her mother said. Not recently; she was an adult now, and she hadn’t spoken to her mother in close to fifteen years- but each time the snowy weather made her fingers burn, she thought of Caroline. Of her soft voice and her tender parenting style, and the way her smile could shatter any type of discomfort.

Lizzie swallowed the dry lump in her throat and shook her mind clear of her past. She wasn’t that cold, just uncomfortable, and the Saltzman’s didn’t matter much anymore. Their memories had a place in a small floral shoebox in her closet behind some Christmas decorations and a neon orange bowl that she would pour candy into before setting it on her porch with the light flicked on.

She instinctively lifted the flowers to her nose and breathed in. Their scent was sweet with a deep earthy edge and the soft petals did little to warm her cheeks. She had grasped the first arrangement that she could find before throwing them in the passenger seat and driving towards the cemetery.

It was a hike to the family plot- not her own families, but one much older and richer. She could trace her own steps up here, on the hard ground, and was careful to avoid the headstones that weren’t so obvious. The ones that were shrouded in dead grass and left to rot. Everyone who cared for them was either in mahogany or hundreds of miles away.

Lizzie had promised a long time ago that no one would ever forget about Hope Mikaelson.

It was impossible, with their lure and their eminent creation, to bury them in other lines of history. But it was the type of past that no one dared speak about, not within the quarters of New Orleans or the long-standing school that carried her own legacy.

She slowed her steps as she rounded the top of the hill where the mausoleum stood. It was pure granite and protected by an iron gate that only a few carried keys to. Lizzie felt her own against her pocket, spelled and sealed with her sorrowful words. Not just anyone could get into the crypt.

Every Monday of every second week of the month, she would bring flowers. At first, they were roses; because she knew that Hope hated them. They were classic and so many people declared them a symbol of love. She thought they were tacky and part of Lizzie knew that bringing roses there would be just enough to stir her spirit.

But after a while- after years of cutting her palm on the little pointed thorns turned towards the sky, she switched to any flowers. Anything that had more color than the damp inside of the mausoleum. Because Hope deserved something that would bring her some joy. 

She wasn’t alone today; there was someone standing uncomfortably close to the crypt, their back turned. Whoever it was had the good sense to wear a coat. Flowers were against her palm, their petals hanging low to the ground. The other hand held a large padlock, she pulled and nothing happened.

“That won’t do much good” Lizzie call out, a few paces behind. Her breath was forming in small puffs in front of her, and she was really regretting her choice by now.

Josie turned around; her nose was raw and red from the cold. She had been crying that much was clear but neither of them commented on it. She looked older, wiser than before, behind the eyes. Lizzie couldn’t tell if she was taller or if Lizzie had forgotten nearly everything about her after all of these years.

Her mouth parted slightly as if she were about to say something, but she didn’t. Instead, she formed a tight line with her lips and released the lock. It fell with a clank. Lizzie had made it to the top of the hill and made no move to open the fence.

“You’ve spelled it,” Josie said.

“I have. You’d be shocked- so many people in this city want to get their hands on anything related to the Original Family. It’s safer this way.”

She knew her twin sister would ask her to break the hex, to let her in, if even for a moment. Josie would leave the flowers and say a few words and let that guilt soak through her. But all of that, all of that was something she could have done fifteen years ago. She chose now, one the second Monday of the month, to do it.

“You don’t have to be their gatekeeper, Lizzie. You’ve set up a barrier, there’s an iron fence and an industrial lock. You don’t even live in this city.” Her voice was exasperated but she still refused to meet Lizzie’s eyes. She wasn’t that daring.

Josie was right: Lizzie hadn’t lived in New Orleans for over a decade now. She was just outside of the city limits in a smaller, quieter town. The streetlights would flash red and yellow right after midnight and a train would cut across the back end of the city limits every few hours. She owned a small bakery and kept to herself. But Josie knew that already.

She clenched her jaw “I owe them that, at least. I owe Hope that.”

“The only justice you can give Hope is living your life, Lizzie.”

“Don’t you think that’s what I’m doing?” She snapped, turning her fired gaze towards her twin. “She was the love of my life- Josie. And now she’s here, rotting away in a stone prison because of her damn martyr complex.”

She steadied her breath, digging her nails into her palm. She hadn’t realized how hard she was clenching the flowers at her side until the cool condensation splattered against her palm. Josie watched her carefully and nodded, brief but customary.

She lifted the flowers and pushed them into Lizzie’s chest, gently. She took them in her opposite hand holding the floral arrangements at her sides like two swords. “You should call mom.”

“I can’t face her.”

“She’s not mad, Lizzie.” Josie said, voice tender “She misses you, but knows that you need your space. Don’t you think fifteen years is enough?”

It didn’t feel like it- fifteen measly years. 5,475 days didn’t do Hope’s life justice, didn’t do her sacrifice justice. That day was still fresh and toxic in her mind, like hot ice. The feeling of blood against her fingertips, under her nails. The way Hope’s breath shuddered against her own. How weak it was for a woman she had always known to be strong. Fifteen years wasn’t enough.

Josie took a step back, the corner of her lip turning up in a bit of a smile. She dug a piece of paper out of her pocket and slipped it into the pocket on Lizzie’s shirt. “Call me sometime. When you’re ready.”

It felt like a rock, weighted. She watched as her sister walked down the hill and vanished between the endless headstones before turning back to the mausoleum. Her throat was raw from the cold now. Lizzie waved her hand over the brass lock, mumbling softly “Basem datorum”

There was a click and the Iron Gate creaked loudly as if it had been weathered for years. The inside of the crypt was significantly cooler, making Lizzie wish even more that she had headed that warning from years ago. It smelled thick of dust and metallic-like blood. None had been shed, she would have known.

She placed the arrangements in the small cement vase fastened the wall, waving her hand once more. “illuminare.”

The lanterns caught fire, bathing her in a soft orange glow. It flickered over the different stone caskets, each situated with a metallic plaque; Klaus, Hayley, Elijah, and Hope. There were open spots too. Not yet filled and Lizzie was thankful for that- thankful that not everything was lost.

She ran her fingers over the worn metal words, tracing the ‘H’ and then the ‘o’. The letters were hard and cold and all too familiar. She stopped herself before reaching the next letter, a pained breath escaping her chest. She felt the warmth of tears against her cheeks, tasted the salt on her lips.

“Josie is right, you know.” The voice came from behind her.

Lizzie withdrew her fingers carefully “Which part?”

“All of it… I don’t know. Some of it. You should call your mom.”

“I didn’t come all this way to get scolded by a ghost, Hope.”

She turned to face her then, having let a few of her tears dry. It didn’t matter much, she was heard from the moment she stepped out of her car. Hope had always been nosy, and that didn’t change, not even now. The girl leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, the subtle light warming her features.

Hope scoffed, smiling fully now. “No, you’ve made the journey to reward me with more flowers. They’re nice. You go to the same place?”

“Always,” Lizzie took a step forward, frowning “I wouldn’t know what to say to her.”

“You would. Trust me, it doesn’t matter how long you two have gone without speaking. The words will come to you.”

She wished that Hope was right; that Lizzie wouldn’t go home and sit in the dull light above her stove. She would press the numbers and hold the phone to her ear, and listen to her mother breathe, to ask frantically who it was that was calling in the first place, before hanging up.

“She was right about the other stuff too, you know.”

Lizzie glanced up from the cobwebbed floor. Hope had taken another step closer and Lizzie could feel her cold. She was pale, quiet, and slight. There was blood, hardened and brown, soaking into the fabric of her shirt. Lizzie’s fingers tingled, remembering the warmth. Remembering the scent and the pain in her chest.

“I’ve spent the last fifteen years watching you struggle, Lizzie. Watching you wish that I could hold you again.” Hope swallowed hard “That I wouldn’t have sacrificed myself so that you could live. But I have that damn martyr complex.”

She smiled playfully, repeating the very words that Lizzie had said right outside of the Crypt doors. And Lizzie could feel the wetness coming back to her eyes, though she smiled too. Smiled at the quietness of Hope’s tone and the gentle way the green of her eyes reflected stone.

“I’m happy here, Lizzie. I have my mom, my dad.” She took another step, and Lizzie swore she could smell the sage, the mint, that Hope carried like a badge “I want you to collect some good stories. Make art. Use your voice, have adventures. _Call your mom._ ”

Lizzie closed her eyes and chuckled, voice wet with tears. She felt the cold, the ghost of fingers against her cheeks, an effort unmatched. “If you find another epic love, Lizzie, if you marry and have children and grow old with them… then I want to know all about it.”

She let out a small breath and opened her eyes, staring so fondly into Hope’s “And if I don’t?”

“You will, Lizzie.” Her skin was cold, fingers moving up to warm the buzzing spot against her cheek. “You will.”


	19. Sunshine & Dimples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hizzie prompt with hope being gay about lizzies dimples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think!

**Hope Mikaelson tried** desperately not to notice Lizzie Saltzman’s smile. But it took over the room, no matter how large and stretching. She could flash a moment of grace and everyone would stop as if magnets in their shoes were suddenly conducting energy. That’s why Hope tried not to look- why she would bury her face into the scent of books, or the morning rain.

The camping trip was different.

It was some scheme cooked up by Doctor Saltzman over spring break. Hope was perfectly content with traveling back to New Orleans, or at the very least, staying in the school while it cleared out. She wouldn’t be the only one. But he refused, stating that they all needed to bond, and would do so much better the second half of the year if they weren’t cooped up all week.

So Hope pushed headphones over her ears as she slumped in the front seat. She watched as Virginia trees whirled by. She would latch onto one until it was out of view entirely before choosing a new target. It helped to drown out the twins entirely.

Josie had her head between her knees, clenching a shopping bag like a vice. Her white knuckles nearly shredded the plastic from the force of her nausea. Lizzie, on the other hand, was loud and angry that Hope had gotten the front seat in the first place. She caught an icy stare once and a while through the side mirror.

“I’m _your_ child.” She pushed her head through the middle two seats “Aka, the one who gets first dibs on the best seat in your gas guzzler.”

Hope let out a sigh and removed one of the headphones “I called dibs,”

“Fair is fair, Liz Bear.”

That killed the argument momentarily. Lizzie hated the nickname, and she hated it even more when it came from her father’s mouth. She smelled like spring, and lavender, and a tinge of strawberry lip balm from the gas station they stopped at two hours back.

Josie groaned, noise muffled as Alaric took another sharp corner. He shot a worried glance back at the girl and eased up on the gas. His car was barely making it up the mountain. Everything, including a neon yellow beetle, seemed to pass them with ease.

Hope was beginning to feel like a caged animal. It didn’t matter how many true crime podcasts she had downloaded, and how many she had gnawed through like a dog with a bone. She was restless, and the cab of the car was cold- and she wouldn’t quite mind stopping to stretch her legs.

She glowered in the mirror at the taller Saltzman twin. She caught a stare back, and had to admit- she wanted to stir something up. If anything, she could get Rick to stop the car on the side of the road and let Josie gain her legs back under her.

“I’m just faster than you, Lizzie.”

“What?”

“I think you heard me. I’m faster than you. I always have been.”

She could hear the way Lizzie’s nails scraped against the leather of the backseat. But Lizzie smirked and that stupid little dimple of hers was painfully obvious. Fuck; it was almost endearing. She wasn’t supposed to smile. Hope hid her frown well.

Lizzie sighed “Right, believe what you want.”

Hope turned in the seat entirely and gripped the headrest. Lizzie was playing a game, a dangerous one that Hope had initiated, sure, but she was expecting some cooperation. Some type of argument that made Alaric turn off the interstate because nothing else would.

“Jo, do you still have your book?” Lizzie asked. She grasped it before she got an answer. Josie knew that reading made her ill in a moving vehicle. But still, she brought the latest fantasy series with her in hopes that it would change at some point. “Do you mind?”

She still wore that smile as her eyes flicked up towards Hope. That stupid dimple and the more than stupid look in her eyes. Hope drew out a breath and turned in her seat. She fished in the glove box to kill some time. The cassette tapes were collecting dust.

“Dude, do you have anything from this century?” She turned to Rick.

“Aqua?”

“I said _this_ century.”

She had to admit that she had a weakness for Barbie Girl just like the next person. But Lizzie would lean into the soundtrack and she couldn’t have that. She so resigned to the silence and the occasional turning of the page. At some point, she had drifted off into an uneasy sleep as a small Toyota edged up on the left and vanished in front of them.

 **The campground is** a large dirt path in the center of even larger pine trees. The sun barely shoots past the tops of them. But Hope can smell the mint and the wind in the air. The dirt is wet and there is a creek nearby that runs towards the west. She’s suddenly glad that Freya taught her how to read nature.

She walked ahead, a bag was slung over her shoulder. Lizzie was a few paces behind her and Rick had stayed by the car to hold Josie’s hair back as the discomfort from the last four hours came to a head. Lizzie was struggling to keep up and Hope was enjoying it a bit too much.

“There are too many bugs out here.” She grumbled, using her free hand to swipe away some gnats. “How long until daddy decides to call it quits and takes us to the nearest motel?”

Hope scoffs and sets their bags down in a dry area that caught the sun from the trees just perfectly. She turns to Lizzie. Her shoes are already sopping with mud and she looks like she’s never been outdoors in her life. The faded pink of her sneakers were a muted grey and all hell was going to break loose when she realized it.

“Yeah Liz Bear, that’s not going to happen.”

Her face turned red, scalding, and dark. Even when she frowned, she had a dimple. Hope dropped to her knees and started to pull open her backpack. The soil was cold and damp, and she knew it would be hard to start a fire before the sun started drifting away.

Lizzie squatted too, starting to pull the different contents from the bag. “You’re just trying to fuck with me, aren’t you?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because neither of us wants to be here.” She sighed, pulling out a few fire starters and the tent's manual. “And my father wants us to get along. You’re not good at listening to him.”

“You are?”

“Absolutely not.”

Hope let her eyes linger on the girl's face for way too long. It was hard to not notice her smile here; to not notice the way her chin curved and the way her skin looked so perfect under the lowering sun. She still smelled like lavender, sweet, and sour at the same time. And she smiled again- as Hope let her stare linger for a bit too long.

“I think it’ll make him happy though,” She continued “just for the weekend, you know? To play nice.”

“Just suddenly?” Hope sat back on her heels and quirked an eyebrow “Wouldn’t it be odd for us to suddenly hold hands and sing kumbaya?”

“Well, not all at once. I could see his annoyance in the car and I don’t know, I guess I felt kind of bad. This is his vacation too.”

She contemplated the offer for a moment; with the old cassette tapes in the car that were trying too hard and the way he rubbed Josie’s back diligently. Alaric was so excited about this stupid camping trip. She waited until she heard their footsteps to nod apprehensively.

“Fine, whatever. We play nice, but only for the weekend.”

Lizzie smiled once more, this time brighter and happier. And those stupid little dimples shined almost as brightly as the orange sunset. Hope hated the way she couldn’t ignore the way they lit up the room- and in this case, the forest.


	20. Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hizzie prompt: hope, lizzie & Pedro in the kitchen (Lizzie making him a sandwich obvi) and he brings up that thinks they’re dating cause he heard an older kid talking about it (because of the fake funeral “lover” comment that leads to dating rumors)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... I'm totally going to try to update Uncharted Waters. Where my life stands right now I'm just way too busy to contribute to a larger story at the moment so I'm afraid you're stuck with oneshots for the time being. Let me know what you think!

**Lizzie pulled the freezer** open like she had done a million times before, a blast of cold air hardens the sweat against her collarbone. It made her skin feel tight. She reached blindly for a water bottle and instantly moved the hunk of ice to the back of her neck, flinching under the change in temperature and then relaxing into it.

She groaned, rolling her head to loosen the tension. Training with her father was not going well; it wasn’t going horribly either, but she had been flipped against the docks way too many times for her liking. There would be a day when she could catch his hands before they made contact. But today, she nursed her wounds and craved a shower.

When she closed the door, she jumped, drawing in a thick heaping of breath as the fridge shook under the movement. Pedro stood on the side of the appliance, an innocent smile on his face, curls falling into deeply innocent eyes.

“Hi Lizzie,” He chirped

She didn’t want to fall for his nice act. Pedro had never been sneaky, per se, but he had a certain look to him as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands tucked behind him. “What do you want?”

“Nothing just wanted to say hi.” He let his shoulders drop when Lizzie narrowed her eyes “Okay, fine. I want a sandwich.”

“You know how to make those yourself.”

“Yours are better,”

She set the icy water bottle down on the counter and let out a sharp sigh. He knew her weakness, and the compliments were flattering. Pedro happened to be one of the only people she could stand being around in this God Forsaken place- he was a smart kid. A hungry kid.

“Alright fine, sit.” She lifted her chin towards the table and that light came back to his face. He dashed over to the breakfast bar and scrambled onto a chair. She didn’t care how much she wanted to shower and nap. It could wait.

She opened the fridge once more and pulled out the ingredients: Turkey, Cheddar cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, and mayo because Pedro was never a fan of yellow mustard. Lizzie prided herself on her cooking skill, however minimal. She could whip up a mean mac and cheese, and an even meaner cold cut sandwich.

Lizzie washed her hands free of dirt and grasped a dishtowel to dry them. When she turned, they weren’t alone. Hope Mikaelson stood timidly at the kitchen door, wringing her hands as if she were thinking about walking right back out. But she looked hungry too, her mouth was watering at the sight of the scene in front of her.

“Did you hear the crinkle of the bread?” Lizzie snorted.

“What? No! I was on my way to get some… salt… for a spell.” Hope squinted and then nearly combusted trying to think of a better excuse. There wasn’t one; it was too close to dinner for her to hide her hunger.

Lizzie groaned and gestured vaguely to the chair that was open next to Pedro. He wiggled a bit as he scooted over and Hope lowered herself into the seat. She rested her chin against her hands as Lizzie worked. Her stomach growled loudly and she licked her lips as Lizzie tore open the turkey.

She worked methodically, slicing up the tomato first, the sharp edge of the blade. It took everything in her to focus her attention on the task at hand, and not on Hope and Pedro. They talked in hushed voices. Hope had a way with kids that always warmed Lizzie’s heart- even if it was slightly.

Hope talked to him like he was a kid while Lizzie treated Pedro like an adult. Sometimes they needed that, she sure as hell did when she scaled down the side of the Salvatore school with tied sheets and a couple of sweatshirts for extra measure.

“He said what?” Hopes voice had raised.

Lizzie glowered over the sliced tomato and started layering meat and cheese on toasted wheat. She topped it off with lettuce and the freshly sliced vegetables before setting the plates in front of her audience. She quirked a brow and threw the towel over her shoulder, leaning heavily against the counter.

Pedro grasped the food thankfully and took a big bite “he said mmhmmhm”

Hope clenched her jaw and looked to Lizzie for some type of translation. The taller girl shrugged and shook her head. She couldn’t decipher anything. “Uh,”

“Jed told me that you guys were dating.” Pedro swallowed his food “And I told him there was no way because Lizzie tells me everything, and Lizzie didn’t tell me this.”

“Oh?” She smiled, leaning further into the counter.

Hope’s cheeks flushed and she picked up her own sandwich before taking a large bite out of the corner. She had averted her stare to the crumbs on the plate and even went in for a second bite before completely finishing the first.

“Yeah,” He shrugged his shoulders before frowning, “I think it would work. Hope was really nice at your funeral.”

“I was?” She asked, wiping the corner of her thumb against her mouth “I was. Totally had the greatest things to say about Lizzie. She makes a killer sandwich.”

He nodded in agreeance and slid from the seat “Jed said something about you complimenting her skills with loving people. I think that’s sweet. Thank you, Lizzie!”

“Sure thing, Kid.”

He dashed out of the storm doors and across the yard before she lost sight of him entirely. Hope was chewing thoughtfully and Lizzie grasped Pedro’s plate before putting it in the sink and flicking on the water.

“Lovers?”

“I’m a good one-“

They spoke at the same time and Lizzie succeeded her sentence with a drawn-out sigh. She ran the plate under the stream of water before deciding that now wasn’t a great time to clean up. She would do it later, after a scolding, she was assured. But Hopes wipe and unripe eyes deserved her full attention.

“Look… Hope, I couldn’t help myself.” Lizzie chewed on her bottom lip, careful not to draw blood because Hope was sure to smell it. “Everyone hates me. And before- before Europe that was fine. I wanted people to hate me because that met they feared me, and fear keeps people out of my business.”

“What changed, then?”

“I tried. That whole time I wasn’t flitting around the UK like it was nothing. I was in offices and evaluations, and when I wasn’t there I was with Mom’s witch friends trying to control the way my emotions affect my magic.” She sighed again, this time sadder “So when I died, and no one saw the new me, it struck a nerve. So yes. Lovers.”

The room was silent and Lizzie suddenly regretted a lot, mainly waving Hope in to have a sandwich in the first place. But she took the quiet as a grain of that imaginary salt that the girl was searching for in the first place.

“Is it true?”

“What?”

“Are you good at it?” Hope’s eyebrows shot up “Because if you can make a killer sandwich like that, and you’re good in bed? I know that’s sexist- but I’m curious now that the rumors are going through the wolf pack.”

Lizzie cracked a smile and pulled her shoulders back. She watched Hope as she leaned over the counter and placed the plate on top of the other one. The wolf’s eyes lingered playfully and for a bit too long. But Lizzie took that as a grain of salt too.


	21. Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: you should write a one shot about the musical ep where hope plays klaus & lizzie plays caroline and they have to act the woods scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super gay... But the woods scene makes me feel things.

**Hope folded the** front of the script until she couldn’t’ see the large and comical ‘S’ that dawned the front. She didn’t’ like the way that it was embossed and so well put together for something that Landon had thought of on the fly. She didn’t like, even more, that she was pushed into the role of her father. He was written as an antihero when she supposed most of the world saw him as nothing but a villain.

She tried to ignore the fresh scent of paint and the cardboard trees that had been reinforced by sandbags. Hope and Lizzie were left to their own devices, given the direction from Landon that their scene wasn’t convincing enough and no one with eyes would actually believe the primal love that Caroline had for Klaus, and the poetic love that he displayed in return.

Hope had tried endlessly to get Landon to rewrite the scene- because not only did it not matter in the grand scheme of things. It made her face heat up and her palms sweat, and she would forget everything she was supposed to say because she had to press Lizzie up against a fake tree in a performance that didn’t’ feel so fake to her.

She cleared her throat, pressing her back further against the metal edge of a prop bench. “So the quarterback has been saved. What now?”

Lizzie was sitting, crossed legged and across from her. She was close enough to smell the sweetness of her shampoo and see the way the one stage light they left on shaded the sharp edge of her jawline. She squinted to see the words.

“Don’t you have a dying girl to go punish for all of her sins?”

“I do,” Hope let her eyes flash up towards Lizzie before returning to the page “But I won’t for you.”

“So you came all the way to Mystic falls just to back off when I ask you to?”

“No, I came all the way to Mystic Falls to gloat over a corpse as you so… Poetically put it.” Hope scoffed and flicked the corner of the page. That was something he would say. He was peacocking, and Caroline, though she had only met her a handful of times, clearly fell for the charm and confidence he possessed.

Lizzie lifted an eyebrow and ran her finger across the corner of the page as if she were finding her place. She skipped a few lines, mouthing them silently as Hope drew her knees up to her chest. She watched her carefully.

“I want your confession,” Hope leads her gently.

“My confession? I didn’t’ do anything. Confession about what?”

Hope swallowed roughly “Me.”

She felt something drop in the pit of her stomach at the simple two-letter word. She gripped the script tighter and let the words blur. She hadn’t expected this level of dialogue from Landon Kirby. In truth, Hope would rather look at the cracks in the school's stage than up at Lizzie, who had seemed to lost her place again. She cleared her throat once more.

“We can… I think most of this is fluff. We can skip through it.”

The blonde was picking at her shoelaces. They were double knotted and stained with mud. Hope didn’t’ ask where the dirt had come from. She didn’t’ want to pry but she didn’t’ want to be here either. It had been a mistake to agree to do this stupid musical- extra credit be damned.

“I’m in college.” Lizzie had skipped Hope’s monologue and she didn’t complain “I’m building a life for myself. I have plans and a future and things that I want. And none of those things involve you. Okay? None of them.”

“I see-“

“No, you don’t because yes, I cover our connection with hostility, because yes I hate myself for the truth. If you promise to walk away like you said, then yes, I will be honest with you. I will be honest with you about what I want.”

“It just says _Klaus stares longingly._ ” Hope frowned at the page “Oh! Uh… I will walk away and I’ll never come back. I promise.”

Lizzie scooted closer then, and that intoxicating scent grew stronger. The bench dug into her spine and she felt her palm adhere to the book. Hope frowned again and looked over at her, taking in the waves of hair and the soft stares and the dip of her collarbone as she clenched her jaw.

“What are you doing?” Hope asked.

“Jesus Hope, read the stage directions. I’m supposed to get closer.”

“Yeah, no I got that, I just-“

“You thought we would kiss for the first time on stage?”

Truthfully, yes. Her face blanched and she started to sputter. The stage was suddenly hot and that little thing that dropped in her stomach grew then times its original size. Lizzie looked beautiful, her lips soft. Lizzie swallowed hard, returning to the lines. “Good.” 

Hope didn’t’ have any more lines. She drew in a sharp breath and set the script to the side before finally allowing herself to look at the girl that reminded her so much of Caroline. The one that had fallen for her father when no one else dared to give him a second chance.

Lizzie took her own chance then and leaned forward. Her nose was frigid against Hope's cheek and she tasted like cherries. They worked together, Hopes fingers lingering against the girls' jaw in the slightest softest of touches. They only broke apart when the air in her lungs burned and her head swam. She was dizzy and needed to stabilize her head against Lizzie’s own.

“Damn,” Hope whispered.

“That’s not in the script.” Lizzie chuckled.

**Author's Note:**

> Side note: Check out my Instagram account @Wildxnights. I edit Hizzie a lot and legacies in general!


End file.
